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d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  derniAre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

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derniAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
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symbole  V  signif'e  "FIN". 

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et  de  haut  en  bas.  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n^cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
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CANADA 


NATIONAL  LIBRARY 
BIBLIOTHEQUE  NATIONALE 


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WORKS  OF 

G.  E.  THEODORE   ROBERTS 


The  Red  Feathers 
Comrades  of  the  Trails 
Flying  Plover 
A  Cavalier  of  Virginia 
Hemming  the  Adventurer 
Brothers  of  Peril 
Captain  Love 


$1.50 
1.50 
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1.50 
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L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  BOSTON,  MASS. 


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227232 


Copyright,  1910 
By   L    C.   Page  &  Compawt 

;i.VOORI'OKATKU) 

All  riffftin  reserved 


First  Inipressiun,  June,   1910 


Tf'J^    C  O  I.  O  .\  I  A  r     PRESS 
C.  }l .  Simonds  &=  <  V  ,  Boston.  L'.  S.  A . 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTIR 
I. 


Realizing  His  Dreams 

II.    Sober  Sam  and  His  Canoe 

III.  The    Ctory  of   Pierre  Lacross,  the  Half- 

breed  Trapper.    Two  -  Fox  Pond 

IV.  Bruin  on  the  Portage.     Signs  of  a  Thijif 

V.    A  Hair-raising  Night.      A    Strangj    Dis- 
covery IN  the  Morning   . 


VI. 
VII. 


Sober  Sam  Respects  the  Spirit  of  the  Dead 
Half  -  breed.    The  Wolves  . 


I 

17 


29 
43 

56 

69 


A  Wrenched  Ankle.     Sober  Sam's  Remark- 
able Discovery  g 

VIII.    More  Signs  of  the  Queer  Thief   •       .       ,       16 

IX.  Sober  Sam's  Adventure  Is  Continued  .  jqq 

X.  Trappers'  Luck.     The  Moose -yard.     The 

Bull  -  moose  and  the  Panther  .       .       .124 


vi  CONTENTS 

XI.  The  THirr  of  the  Precious  Skin,  Sober 
Sam  Comes  to  Grief.  The  Knif  -  and  Its 
Owner 137 

XII.    A  Lost  Chance.    Dick  Works  Hard.    The 

Two  Lynx i^ 

XTII.  Lost.  Night  in  the  Snow  -  storm,  r. 
Glimpse  of  a  Shadowy  but  Familiar  Form. 
A  Timely  Breakfast 164 

XIV.  Dick  Sets  Out  to  Catch  the  Thief.  He 
Finds  the  Trail  of  the  Round  Snow- 
shoes.  The  Trailer  Trailed.  The  At- 
tack AND  THE  Rescue 17?, 

XV.    A  Queer  Nurse  and  a  Queerer  Companion. 

Fragments  of  the  Wild  Man's  Past  184 

XVI.    The  Fever  Grips  Dick  Hard.    The  Wild 

Man's  Troubles 197 

XVII.  The  Wild  Man's  Past  Adventures  Con- 
tinued. The  Doctor's  Depravity.  The 
Empty  Box 209 

XVIII.    The  Wild  Man's  Early  Adventures,  Con- 
cluded.   The  Fever  Leaves  Dick  .  M2 

XIX.  Sober  Sam's  Troubles  and  Anxiety.  He 
Sets  Out,  at  Last,  to  Look  for  His 
Vanished  Partner.     A  Queer  Meeting    234 

XX.    Sober  Sam  Finds  His  Partner.    Job  Gets  a 

Fright      ........    247 


CONTENTS 


VII 


XXI.  Sam  and  the  Wild  Man  Hunt  Togbthbs, 
Sam  iNfjUiREs  /.bout  Stolen  Black  Fox 
Skin,  and  RECiiivEs  No  Satisfaction     .    a6o 

XXII.    The  Moose.    Dick's  Rifle  and  Some  Traps 

Come  to  Light.  The  Crowning  Discoveky    273 

XXIII.  Flap  -jacks.    Dick  Returns  to  the  Shack. 

Joe  Remembers  to  Some  Purpose    .  285 

XXIV.  Spring.    The  Way  Oot 207 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGB 


"  He  tried  to  recall  to  his  mind  all  that  he  had 

EVER  READ  ABOUT  THE  BEARS  OF  THIS  COUNTRY  "    (See 

.„P'«^^> Frontispiece 

High  up  in  the  leafless  sapling  ...  was  a  small 
bear -like  beast  " 

"  It  was  advancing,  walking  upright  like  a  man  " 
"  Across  his  shoulders,  close  to  the  base  of  the  black 

VECK,   clung   a   panther" 

"Dick,  heedless  of  the  danger  that  menaced  him, 
tramped  forward  along  the  trail" 


68 
"7 

130 


177 


M  tr  ...       ^,f 

HE  RAN  DOWN  A  YOUNG  MOOSE "       .  ,— 


-mii."  -h-i 


.kI 


COMRADES 
OF  THE  TRAILS 


CHAPTER   I 

REALIZING    HIS    DREAMS 

From  far  away  the  voice  came  and  whispered  in  my  ear. 
I  heard  the  wind  in  the  spruces  and  the  rapids  shouting  dear. 
I  saw  the  smoke  of  the  little  fires  stream  no  to  greet  the  day ; 
So  I  packed  my  kit  and  followed  the  voice  North  and  West  and 
away. 

At  last  Dick  Ramsey  stood  on  the  very  edge 
of  the  land  of  his  dreams  and  ambitions.  Be- 
yond lay  forests  of  spmce  and  pine  that  even 
the  axes  of  adventurous  lumbermen  had  not  taken 
toll  of,  and  rivers  that  were  but  suspicions  to  the 
map-makers,  and  wide  barrens  across  which  the 
hoofs  of  the  caribou  herd,  had  worn  knee-deep 
traits  in  the  brown  loam. 

Dick  Ramsey  stood  at  the  end  of  the  last  man- 
made  road  —  at  the  "  jumping-off  place  "  as 
Billy  Bhint  called  it.    To  reach  this  spot  Dick 


> ) 

'I 


/• 


2     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

had  made  a  long  and  vaned  journey.    First,  in  the 
snug  and  speedy  railway  carriages  of  Home  he  had 
raced  across  England  to  Li\-erpool.    From  there 
in  a  great  Canadian  liner,  he  had  crossed  the 
Atlantic  and  steamed  up  the  St.  Lawrence  River 
to  Quebec.    From  that  old  new-world  city  on  its 
historic  crag  he  had  approached  the  unknown  land 
of  his  dreams  by  means  of  three  railways.     The 
first  of  these  railways  had  inspired  his  admiration; 
the  second  had  reminded  him  of  his  ocean  vcjyage; 
the  third  had  filled  him  with  dismay,  so  violently 
had  the  little  engine  and  the  clattering  carriage 
lurched  and  pitched  and  swayed  along  the  risky 
road-bed.     By  these  means  he  had  come  at  last 
to  Wolf's  Landing.    At  this  little  lumber  village 
on  Wolf's  River  he  had  spent  two  weeks,  gathering 
information,  completing  his  outfit  and  arranging 
for  the  final  stages  of  his  great  adventure.    From 
Wolf's  Landing  a  French-Canadian  named  Peter 
Lavois  had  transported  Dick  and  his  kit,  in  a 
farm-wagon,  thirty  miles  across  country,  along 
something  that  Peter  called  a  road  but  that  the 
young  Englishman  had  no  name  for,  to  McDodd's 
Camp  on  the  Little  Beaver.    At  McDodd  s  Camp 
Billy  Blunt  had  taken  him  in  charge.     Billy  be- 
longed to  the  lumber  camp  and  was  a  teamster  of 


REALIZING  HIS  DREAMS        3 

great  and  hard-won  reputation  in  those  parts. 
At  this  season  of  the  year  —  early  October  —  it 
was  his  work  to  haul  provisions  in  to  the  diffo-ent 
branch  camps ;  and  as  the  ways  along  which  duty 
called  him  were  not  fit  for  even  the  strongest 
wheels,  being  composed  of  a  terrible  mixture  of 
roots,  stumps,  mud-holes  and  boulders,  he  did 
his  hauling  on  a  low  sled.  So  on  this  sled  he  had 
piled  Dick  Ramsey's  outfit  and  fastened  it  down 
with  several  hundreds  of  feet  of  rope.  To  the 
sled  he  had  hitched  his  team  of  two  rough-coated, 
wise,  powerful  horses  —  and  then  they  had  started 
for  the  "  jumping-oft  place." 

Now,  standing  at  the  end  of  the  last  man-made 
road,  with  his  face  toward  the  vast  wilds  in  which 
he  was  about  to  seek  his  fortune,  Dick  Ramsey 
remembered  that  journey  with  wonder.  Though 
it  was  called  twenty-five  miles  they  had  toiled  and 
floundered  for  two  whole  days  to  accomplish  it. 
As  Bill_y  Blunt  had  said:  "Oh,  yes!  Twenty-five 
mile  all  '•^'ght  —  a/ong/ —  an'  fifty  mi.e  up  and 
down!  " 

Now  that  it  was  behind  him,  Dick  began  to  see 
the  funny  side  of  it.  During  the  journey  he  had 
seen  only  the  under-side  of  mud  and  water  and 
the  top-side  o.  sttmips,  rocks  and  roots.    He  was 


<>'.71T,', 


ii 


4      COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

caked  with  black  mud  to  his  arm-pits.    He  was 
spattered  with  it  to  the  crown  of  his  soft  felt  hat. 
His  hands  were  begrimed  and  scratched,   from 
numerous  tumbles,  and  his  high-topped  moccasins 
were  full  of  clay  and  water.     He  looked  at  the 
horses,  now  quietly  eating  their   oats,    and   saw 
that  they,  too,  were  coated  with  the  black  mud 
through  which  they  had  plunged  so  valiantly. 
On  Dick's  right,  as  he  faced  the  further  and 
untested  trails  of  the  wilderness,  stood  a  deserted 
shack  that  had  been  built,  ten  years  ago,  by  a  half- 
breed   trapper.     Behind  the  shack  arose  a  high 
hill,  its  sides  clothed  with  towering  spruces,  rank 
on  rank.     On  his  left  a  steep  bank  sloped  down 
to  the  narrow,  brawling  waters  of  Little  Beaver. 
Beyond   the   river  the   land   rose   steeply  again, 
with  thick,  gloomy  forests  of  pine   and  spruce 
on  its  strong  shoulders.    Before  the  shack  squatted 
Billy  Blunt,  busily  engaged  in  frying  bacon  at  a 
little  fire.     Westward,  the  sun  was  dipping  its 
lower  rim  behind  the  crests  of  the  far  hills  and 
flooding  the  dusky  spires  of  the  forest  with  crim- 
son. 

"Well,"  murmured  Dick,  cheerfully,  as  he 
scraped  a  hand- full  of  half-dry  mud  off  the  front 
of  his  short  blanket  "jumper,"   "this  is  even 


REALIZING  HIS  DREAMS        5 

finer  than  I  expected.  What  wouldn't  the  fellows 
at  home  give  for  a  day's  fun  over  that  thing  they 
call  a  '  haulin'  road  '  in  this  country?" 

He  stepped  over  to  the  fire  and  sat  down  beside 
Billy  Blunt.  His  interest  in  frying-pan  and  tea- 
kettle was  keen. 

"  Guess  I'll  stop  right  here  to-night,"  said 
Billy,  "  an'  light  out  fer  home  on  the  back  trail  at 
sun-up.  Sober  Sam  '11  be  here  by  then,  I  reckon." 
He  glanced  up  from  the  frying  bacon  and  met  the 
young  Englishman's  eyes.  "  I  guess  you'll  do, 
young  feller,"  he  continued.  "  You  be  sound, 
anyhow,  wind,  limb  an'  temper.  Thunder  an' 
turf !  it  was  as  good  as  a  show  to  see  you  in  them 
bog-holes  —  an'  as  polite  as  an  Injun  all  the  time. 
Many's  the  greenhorn  I've  seen  who  would  be 
back  along  the  trail  still,  a-cussin'  them  holes." 

Dick  grinned.  He  was  highly  pleased  by  the 
woodsman's  praise. 

"I'm  afraid  I  would  not  be  of  much  use  in  this 
country  if  I  lost  my  temper  every  time  I  came  to 
a  bad  place  in  the  trail,"  he  said. 

"That's  right,"  returned  Blunt.  "  Cussin' 
never  yet  put  a  bottom  to  a  bog,  or  resined  a 
canoe.  Injuns  know  that  —  an*  their  grandfathers 
knowed  it  afore  them  —  an'  so  they  keep  their 


WPBi* 


6      COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


i: 


mouths  shut  no  matter  how  tearin'  mad  they  feel. 
I  knowed  an  Injun  once,  brother  to  this  here 
Sober  Sam,  who  got  afloat  on  a  pan  of  ice  one 
spring-time  on  Wolf's  River.      He  floated  down 
stream  for  three  days  afore  the  chance  came  for 
him  to  get  ashore.     He  hadn't  anything  to  eat, 
neither,  for  his  whole    outfit  —  toboggan,  grub, 
traps  an'  pelts  — had  all  gone  through  the  ice. 
Well,  I  w-as  handy  when  he  come  ashore.    Did  he 
cuss  an'  tear?     Not  him.     '  Dat  almighty  heap 
cold  v'yage,  Billy,'  said  he.     Ay,  them  was  his 
identical  words." 

"Good  for  him!"  exclaimed  Dick  Ramsey, 
heartily.  "  Is  Sober  Sam  as  sound  in  the  temper 
as  his  brother?  " 

"  Don't  worry  about  Sober  Sam,"  returned  the 
lumber- jack.  "  I've  given  you  my  word  for  him, 
an'  I've  told  him  to  meet  you  here  at  this  shack. 
So  don't  you  worry,  young  feller.  I  like  you  — 
an'  so  I  am  treatin'  you  white.  Sober  Sam's  a 
good  Injun,  an'  just  the  lad  to  larn  you  the  tricks 
o'  this  here  forsaken  country.  .  You  keep  your 
temper,  an'  that  smoky  faced  old  son  of  the  woods 
'11  keep  his.  You  treat  him  square  an'  he'll  do 
the  right  thing  by  you  if  it  takes  the  hide  oflfen 
him  to  do  it.    Treat  him  like  a  friend  —  the  way 


REALIZING  HIS  DREAMS        7 

you  treat  me  —  an'  Iie'll  treat  you  like  you  was 
his  brother  an'  his  father  an'  his  son  all  rolled 
together.  Injuns  an'  breeds  is  just  the  same  as  us 
white  men  — some's  good  an'  some's  bad.  A 
good  Injun's  as  good  as  any  v/hite  man  that  ever 
pulled  on  a  pair  o'  moccasins.  A  bad  Injim!  Well, 
when  you  cross  the  trail  o'  a  bad  one  you  just 
keep  your  eye  peeled  —  an'  take  that  from  Billy 
Blunt." 

After  the  simple  meal  of  bread,  bacon  and  tea 
was  eaten,  Blunt  spent  ten  minutes  in  scraping 
the  biggest  lumps  of  mud  off  his  horses.  Then  he 
put  their  blankets  on  and  stabled  them  in  the 
shack.  By  this  time  the  stars  were  all  aglint 
and  the  air  had  a  tang  of  frost  in  it.  The  voice  of 
the  Little  Beaver  boomed  up  from  its  rocky  valley. 
A  fox  barked,  far  up  on  the  black  hill-side.  An 
owl  hooted  dismally  among  the  high  tops  of  the 
forest. 

Blunt  enlarged  the  fire,  heapirg  wood  upon  it 
until  it  blazed  high,  sent  showers  of  red  sparks 
aloft  and  weaved'a  wide  circle  of  dancing  light 
around  the  campers.  They  talked,  and  the 
woodsman  smoked  his  pipe.  Soon  the  talk  slack- 
ened, and  grew  softer  and  slower.  At  last  Dick 
removed  his  outer  garments  and  crawled  into  his 


.i 

*• 


8      COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

thick  blanket-lined  sleeping-bag.  In  a  minute 
his  eyes  were  closed  and  the  magic  radiance  of  the 
camp-fire  was  weaving  magic  dreams  in  his  brain. 
And  now,  while  Dick  Ramsey  sleeps  the  sleep 
of  youth  and  hope  and  honest  fatigue,  with  the 
roaring  of  a  rock-torn  river  for  his  slumber  song, 
on  the  very  threshold  of  the  wild  country  of  his 
ambitions,  let  me  go  back  and  explain  the  reason 
of  it  all. 

Richard  Ramsey  was  the  second  son  and  third 
child  of  the  late  Major  Henry  Clinton  Ramsey 
of  Foxholm,  in  Dorset.    The  major  had  died  just 
a  year  before  the  opening  of  this  sto.y  and  only  a 
few  weeks  after  Richard  had  left  school.    Dick's 
elder  brother  was  in  the  Indian  Army,  and  by  hard 
work  and  a  natural  knack  for  soldiering  had  al- 
ready made  a  name  for  himself  by  the  time  of  his 
father's  death.     The  girl,   who  was  four  years 
older  than  Dick,  was  married  to  a  young  London 
bamster  who  was  also  heir  to  a  very  fine  property 
near  Foxholm.    It  was  well  that  two  of  the  three 
children  at  least  were  so  comfortably  provided 
for,  for  after  the  major's  death  his  affairs  were 
found  to  be  in  a  bad  way.    He  had  retired  from 
the  service  of  his  country  at  too  early  an  age 
complaining  that  there  would  never  be  any  mor^ 


REALIZING  HIS  DREAMS        9 

fighting  and  that  he  was  weary  of  fiddhng  away 
his  time  in  garrison  towns.     So  he  resigned  his 
commission  and  began  to  teach  his  tenants,  by 
example,    the    modem   methods    of   agriculture. 
The  lessons  amused  the  worthy  farmers  but  cost 
the  instructor  much  money.    One  of  the  tenants 
remarked  at  the  time  —  "  Squire'll  soon  lam  as 
tumips  baint  sodgers."     Time  hung  heavily  on 
the  major's  hands;  so,  when  he  had  called  a  halt 
on  his  agricultural  activities,  he  turned  his  atten- 
tions  to  the  stock  market.    Enough  said  !    He  was 
a  soldier,  not  a  broker.    Living,  he  hid  his  scars 
even  from  his  wife;  but  he  could  not  hide  them 
after  he  was  dead. 

Foxholm  was  sold.     Everything  else  that  was 
worth  anything  was  sold  also  —  horses  and  car- 
riages, books  and  pictures,  sheep,  homed  cattle 
and  farm  machinery.    Debts  were  paid,  and  there 
was  enough  lefi  for  the  widow  to  live  on,  very 
quietly.    There  was  nothing  left  for  poor  Richard. 
Now  Dick  had  been  an  out-door  boy  since  the 
time  of  his  earliest  mem.ories,  loving  the  woods  and 
the  fields  and  the  life  thereof.    It  had  always  been 
his  ambition  to  become  an  explorer  some  day. 
This  worthy  ambition  had  shaped  his  reading  and 
tinted  aU  his  thoughts.    He  would  enter  and  mas- 


10     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


I 


I* 


'i 


ter  the  secrets  of  the  wild  and  unknown  places  of 
the  earth,  north  and  south,  east  and  west,  pitting 
his  endurance  and  wit  against  the  quiet,  cloaked 
but  gigantic  forces  of  nature.  He  would  prove 
himself  a  foeman  worthy  of  her  steel  —  and  then 
she  would  accept  him  as  ^  friend.  He  would 
write  books  about  these  strange  lands  and  the 
people  and  birds  and  beasts  that  inhabited  them. 
It  was  a  boy's  ambition ;  but  it  was  also  a  manly 
and  honest  one.  Most  healthy  boys  dream  of 
something  of  the  kind  at  one  time  or  another; 
but  in  Dick  Ramsey  it  was  more  than  a  romantic 
dream.  It  was  a  part  of  his  life,  woven  into  his 
brain  and  his  heart. 

Dick  and  his  father  had  been  comrades  —  so  it 
was  not  imtil  several  months  after  the  major's 
death  that  Dick  looked  again  at  his  plans  for  the 
future  through  the  new  light  of  his  altered  condi- 
tions. But  he  looked  at  last,  and  his  heart  did  not 
turn  from  the  old  a-nbitions.  Then  people  began 
to  ask  him  what  he  intended  to  do.  Dick  did  not 
commit  himself  to  these  idle  questioners,  but 
told  all  his  hopes  and  secrets  to  his  mother.  Then 
it  was  that  the  brother-in-law  in  London  offered 
him  a  clerical  position  in  his  own  office.  Dick 
thought  of  the  gloomy  office,  of  the  high  stools  and 


REALIZING  HIS  DREAMS       11 

scratching  pens,  of  the  clanging  streets  on  aU 
sides.  He  thought  of  these  things  and  felt  as  if 
his  heart  had  turned  to  water.  "  It  is  very  kind 
of  you,  Jack,"  he  said,  "but  — but  FU  ship  be- 
fore the  mast  on  some  rusty  old  tramp  rather  than 
begin  my  life  perched  up  on  one  of  those  beastly 
stools."  So  that  was  the  end  of  that.  Many  hard 
things  were  said  about  poor  Dick;  but  neither 
the  mother  nor  the  brother  in  India  said  a  word 
—  just  then. 

Dick  was  for  breaking  away  at  -nee;  but  his 
mother  asked  him  to  wait  a  little  longer.    By  this 
time  Mrs.  Ramsey  was  established   in  a  small 
house  in  a  London  suburb,  within  easy  reach  of 
her  daughter.     About  three   weeks  after  Dick 
had    refused    the    stool    in    his   brother-in-law's 
office,  and  when  he  was  growing  fairly  desperate 
with  impatience  and  wounded  pride,  his  mother 
entered  his  bedroom  early  one  morning,  before 
he  was  up.    A  letter  that  she  had  been  watching 
for  had  arrived  by  the  first  post.    But  she  had  two 
letters  in  her  hand.    She  kissed  him  tenderly  and 
then  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  his  bed.    She  was 
smiling  —  but  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  Here  are  two  letters  that  will  interest  you." 
she  said.    "  Harry's  came  several  days  ago;  but 


•aOXTFiC,  it"^W.V\f 


12     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


1 1 1 


until    I    heard    from    your    Aunt 


I    kept    it 
Madge." 

Dick  read  the  letter  from  India  first.     This  is 
the  part  of  it  that  most  nearly  concerned  him. 
"I  feel  as  you  do  about  Dick.     He  is  no  more 
suited  to  office-work  than  I  am,  and  it  would  be 
a  crime  to  force  him  into  it.    I  think  Canada  is 
the  place  for  him  to  make  his  start.     There  is 
room  enough  there  for  a  thousand  explorers  — 
and  chances  for  a  young  fellow  with  a  level  head 
on  his   shoulders   to   combine   exploration   with 
bread-winning.    He  might  do  something  at  trap- 
ping, to  begin  with  —  if  he  had  enough  money  to 
buy  an  outfit  and  pay  his  way  into  the  country. 
I  hope  Aunt  Madge  will  lend  him  a  helping  hand. 
Good    luck   to   him  — and   here   are    thirty-five 
pounds  that  I  have  managed  to  scrape  together. 
If  he  gets  his  chance  I  know  he  wiU  make  his  way 
in  his  chosen  profession." 

Dick  dared  not  trust  his  voice,  so  turned  in 
silence  from  his  brother's  letter  to  his  aunt's.  Of 
hers  it  is  enough  to  say  that  she  enclosed  a  draft 
for  two  hundred  pounds  and  wrote  that  she  be- 
Heved  firmly  in  Dick  and  his  dreams.  That  is 
how  Richard  Ramsey  got  his  chance  to  win  his 
spurs. 


REALIZING  HIS  DREAMS       13 

Dick  set  out  for  the  new  world  with  a  clear 
brain  but  a  heart  benumbed  with  the  struggle 
between  the  joy  and  wonder  at  his  great  chance 
and  grief  at  parting  with  his  mother. 

Dick  did  not  buy  his  outfit  in  London,  for  he 
suspected  that  he  should  know  better  what  he 
needed  when  nearer  the  scene  of  action.    He  took 
with  him  only  such  clothing  as  he  thought  would 
be  useful  and  hi:   shot-gun.    This  last  was  a  serv- 
iceable weapon,   by  a  good    maker,    light,    per- 
fectly balanced  and  a  hard  hitter.     He  felt  safe 
in  taking  this,  for  he  knew  that  there  are  no  better 
fowling-pieces  in  the  wide  world  than  those  that 
are  made  by   English  gunsmiths   and    used  by 
English  sportsmen.     In  the  city  of  Quebec  he 
began  to  buy   his   outfit,    with    great    caution. 
The  manager  of  the  bank  at  which  he  deposited 
his  money  befriended  him  here.    Together  they 
went  from  shop  to  shop  (or  from  store  to  store,  as 
they  say  there),  pricing  and  selecting.    At  Wolf's 
Landing  he  completed  his  purchases.   Arrived  at 
the  end  of  the  last  man-made  road,  the  follow- 
ing articles  were  in  his  possession. 

A  rough  list  of  Richard  Ramsey's  outfit  for 
his  first  winter  in  the  northern  wilderness:  — A 
shot-gun  (number  twelve,  hammerless).    A  rifle 


if 


14     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

(medium-weight,  repeating).     A  medicine  chest, 
containing  quinine,  bandages  and  liniments.     A 
small  camera  and  films.     A  compass.     A  fuU- 
weight   axe,   a   belt-axe   and   sheath-knives.     A 
frying-pan,  kettle,  tin  mugs  and  tin  plates.    One 
hundred  rounds  of  ammunition  for  the  rifle  and 
half  as  many  more  for  the  shot-gun.    Two  blan- 
kets and  a  sleeping-bag.     Half  a  dozen  pairs  of 
oil-tanned  moccasins  -  three  pairs  with  high  tops 
and  three  without  tops.    A  dozen  pairs  of  woollen 
socks  and  stockings,  woollen  gloves  and  mittens. 
Heavy  outer  and  under  clothing.    A  soft  felt  hat 
and  a  fur  cap.     One  pair  of  snow-shoes  (these 
he  could  renew  in  the  woods,  for  every  Indian  is 
able  to  make  them).    A  canister  of  plug-tobacco, 
for  "  trade."    Tea,  sugar  and  mola^^es  in  water- 
tight tins.         jur.  corn-meal,  pea-meal  and  rice 
m  small  canvas  bags.    Prunes,  currants  and  evapo- 
rated  apples.    Beans  (for  baking),  salt  pork,  bacon 
and   matches,   salt  and   pepper  in  tins.     Rope. 
A  complete  sewing-bag.    A  dozen  steel  traps  for 
mink,  otter,  fox  and  ermine. 

And  now  to  return  to  Dick  himself,  and  Billy 
Blunt,  and  the  camp  at  the  edge  of  the  trackless 
wilderness.  Thrice,  during  the  night,  Blunt 
sat  up  in  his  blankets,  tossed  more  wood  on  the 


REALIZING  HIS  DREAMS      16 

fire  and   sank  back   again   into   the   dreamless 
slumber  from  which  the  requirements  of  the  fire 
had  only  half  aroused  him.     Dick,  snug  in  his 
sleeping-bag  and  with  his  feet  to  the  fire,  did  not 
so  much  as  change  his  position  until  he  awoke 
at  dawn.     During  those  still  hours  the  furtive, 
wide-eyed  life  of  the  wild  drew  close  around  the 
fire.     Brown  hares,  not  yet  changed  into  their 
winter  coats  of  white,  hopped  from  the  under- 
brush into  the  narrowing  circle  of  red  light,  sat 
up  on  their  haunches  to  listen  and  look,  and  then 
bounced  over  the  bodies  of  the  sleepers  and  van- 
ished among  the  shadows.    A  big  dog  fox  came 
down  ^-  the  edge  of  the  camping-place,  stood 
motionless  as  a  stone  for  several  minutes  while 
he  sniffed  the  man-scent  and  thought  matters  over, 
then  slipped  into  the  darkness  again  and  con- 
tinued his  silent  journey  on  the  trail  of  the  flighty 
hares.    There  was  no  win(^   and  a  caribou  passed 
the  camp  through  the  heavy  timber  of  the  hill- 
side without  a  sight  or  a  scent  of  it.    A  porcupine, 
who  had  watched  the  arrival  of  the  men  and 
horses  from  his  perch  in  the  fork  of  a  big  poplar 
tree,  now  backed  down  to  the  ground  and  lum- 
bered into  the  little  clearing  before  the  shack.    He 
moved  slowly  but  without  caution,  and  his  quills 


.«Xt 


A'*. 


=  «^St    -.-'-l^r' 


■• 


16    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

rustled  as  he  advanced.     He  was  covered  with 
long  quills  and  long,  coarse  hairs,  from  the  tip 
of  his  tail  to  his  eye-brows;    but  his  undersides 
were  unprotected.     His  sight  and  hearing  were 
good,  however,  and  he  could  curl  himself  into  a 
ball  and  present  nothing  but  quills  to  his  enemies 
at  a  moment's  notice.    He  waddled  up  to  the  fire 
and  took  a  good  look  at  it,  examined  the  sleeping 
men  with  interest,  snififed  at  a  bacon  rind  and 
decided  that  it  was  not  fit  to  eat,  and  then  entered 
the  shack  to  look  at  the  horses.     A  black  bear 
scrambled  up  from  the  river,  stared  at  the  fire 
for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  went  down  the  bank 
again. 

At  last  the  high  stars  began  to  fade. 


j;a&i^^Mseiv^v^ie'^::9/%'sc' 


CHAPTER    II 

SOBER   SAM   AND   HIS    CANOE 

Dick  awoke  in  the  grey  of  the  dawn.  The  fire 
had  fallen  and  cooled  to  grey  ashes  and  black  cores 
of  wood  with  here  and  there  a  coal  still  ablink 
like  a  red  eye.  On  all  sides  arose  the  still,  black 
forests,  quiet  now  and  in  the  half-light  blurred 
into  mysterious  masses.  It  seemed  as  if  the  whole 
wilderness,  save  the  Little  3eaver,  still  lay  wrapt 
in  sleep. 

Dick  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  and  looked 

about  him.    At  the  same  moment  Blunt  sat  bolt 

upright,   tossed   his  blankets  aside   and   rubbed 

open  his  eyes  with  his  knuckles  all  in  one  second. 

Then  he  got  to  his  feet,  strode  to  the  fire,  squatted 

over  it  and  with  swift  fingers  gathered  together  a 

heart  of  red  coals  from  the  dead  ashes.     With  a 

strip  of  bark,  a  few  dry  twigs  and  the  charred  ends 

of  faggots  he  topped  the  live  coals.    Stooping  low, 

he  blew  softly  —  and  up  shot  the  yellow  flame. 

"  I  overslep'  meself,"  he  said,  turning  to  Dick. 

17 


18     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

"  But  I'll  be  on  the  back  trail  pretty  soon,  for  all 
that." 

With  a  tin  pail  in  each  hand  he  started  down  the 
steep  and  brush-tangled  bank  toward  the  brawling 
river,  for  water  for  his  horses.     Dick  got  out  of 
his  sleeping-bag,  possessed  himself  of  a  towel  and 
a  cake  of  soap  and  the  empty  tea-kettle,  and  fol- 
lowed Blunt.     A  trace  —  a  mere  ghost  —  of  the 
half-breed's  path  still  showed,  twisting  downward 
between  the  spruces  and  firs.    Dick  footed  it  cau- 
tiously,   easing    himself    down    by    the    elastic 
branches  of  the  trees  and  keeping  the  path  by  the 
sense  of  feeling  rather  than  of  sight.     Before  he 
reached  the  river  he  met  Blunt  returning,  scram- 
bling upward  with  his  pails  abrim. 

At  the  edge  of  the  racing,  clashing  waters,  the 
young  Englishman  felt  something  of  the  awe  of 
the    vast    wilderness  —  something    that    almost 
amounted  to  a  quiet  terror.    He  stood  motionless 
at  the  edge  of  the  black  current,  hearkening  to  the 
uproar  at  his  feet  with  senses  painfully  alert. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  hundred  voices  commingled 
in  the  giant  voice  of  Little  Beaver  —  sobbing  and 
shouting,  cries  high  and  low,  harsh  roarings  and 
gentle  pleadings.     It  is  a  terrific  sound  at  first, 
this  outcry  of  rapids  strong  with   the  autumil 


~i^m^^m^3m% 


SOBER  SAM  AXD  HIS  CANOE     19 

rains;  but  in  time  one  learns  to  love  it  and  hear 
no  \  lire  of  menace  in  it. 

White  nil,,  veiled  the  torn  bosom  of  the  river 
i-vaving  and  drifting,  lifting  and  sinking  in  long,' 
fiuJ  vvio^ :  ^vith  the  commotion  beneath.    Stead- 
ily and   swiftly   the   sky  brightened  above  the 
shaggy  valley  and  the  mist  thinned  and  vanished 
from  the  water.     Dick  Ramsey  smiled,  at  last 
at  his  own  timidity.    The  air  was  decidedly  crisp- 
but  he  stripped  and  stepped  cautiously  into  the 
shallow  water.    Wow!  but  it  was  cold.    Standing 
scarcely  ankle-deep,  and  afraid  to  move  his  feet 
an  inch  for  dread  of  the  deep  and  raging  current, 
he  splashed  himself  all  over  and,  without  waiting 
to  make  use  of  the  soap,  skipped  ashore  and  ap- 
phed  the  towel  to  his  glowing  skin.     He  dressed 
hke  lightning,  filled  the  kettle  with  water  for  the 
morning  tea,  and  then  scrambled  up  the  bank 
He    felt   wonderfully   fresh   and   strong.      Beside 
the  fire  he  found  Billy  Blunt  frying  bacon  and 
grinning. 

"  I  seen  you."  said  Blunt.     "  If  I  hadn't   by 
gmger  I'd  never  believe  it.     Well,  it  do  beat  the 
Dutch,  for  sure !    Dang  my  eyes!  " 
"  What  is  the  trouble?  "  asked  Dick 
"  You  must  be  aU-fired  dirty,  youngster,  to 


!SF 


't 


20    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

take  a  wash  in  Little  Beaver  on  a  momin'  like 
this,"  said  Blunt. 

"  It  freshens  a  feUow  —  wakes  him  up."  replied 
Dick. 

"Oh!    this  be  a  free  country,"  returned  the 
woodsman.    "  But  for  me,  I'd  a  long  shot  sooner 
stay  asleep  nor  wake  meself  up  that  a-way.    But 
every  man  to  his  own  special  brand  o'  foolishness, 
say  I  —  so  long  as  it  don't  hurt  other  folks     I'd 
give  a  dollar  for  a  sight  o'  Sober  Sam  first  time 
he  sees  you  up  to  that  trick.     Thunder  an'  turf  I 
he'll  think  you  be  tryin'  to  commit  susanside 
sure.     He  gets  all  the  washin'  he  wants  when  he 
falls  in,   by  accident -an'  he  ain't  done  that 
more'n  once  in  his  whole  life,  I  reckon." 

Dick  laughed  good-naturedly  and  helped  him- 
self  to  bacon  and  bread.     He  knew,  instinctively 
that  the  woodsman  meant  no  offence  by  his  re- 
marks about  the  morning  bath.    Dick  had  taken 
some  trouble,  since  leaving  the  city  of  Quebec, 
to  learn  the  nature  of  a  backwoods  joke,  for  he 
knew  that  his  success  largely  depended' on  his 
ability  to  keep  on  friendly  terms  with  the  rough 
fello-vs  who  have  their  work  and  being  in  and 
about  the  fringes  of  the  great  wilderness. 
The  sun  was  in  sight,  bright  as  fire  but  colourless 


7:^^m^r<:^:WJ§^': 


teX*.r 


SOBER  SAM  AND  HIS  CANOE     21 

as  glass,  by  the  time  the  two  had  finished  their 
breakfast.     The  sky  was  pale  blue  and  without 
mgle  cloud.     Billy  Blunt  led  the  horses  from 
the  shack,   preparatory  to  his  departure  along 
the  back  trail.    Dick  remained  seated  by  the  fire 
gazing  around  at  the  wealth  of  dark  green  forests 
that  hemmed  him  in.    Suddenly,  a  strange  figure 
appeared  at  the  top  of  the  bank  -  a  squat  figure 
with  bowed  legs,  clothed  in  shapeless  garments 
of  no  particular  colour,  and  gripping  a  long,  white, 
spruce  pole  in  one  hand. 

"  Howdy,  brother,"  said  the  stranger,  without 
removmg  his  short,  powerful-looking  pipe  from 
his  mouth.  Dick  was  too  greatly  astonished 
by  the  stranger's  sudden  and  rer  kable  appear- 
ance to  answer;  but  Blunt  tume.  at  the  sound 
of  the  voice  and  hurried  forward.  "Howdy 
Sober  Sam,"  he  cried.  "  Thought  you'd  turn  up 
afore  long.     How's  tricks,  old  boy?  " 

Sober  Sam  removed  his  pipe  from  his  mouth 
and  grinned  broadly.  "Good!  Heap  good" 
said  he.  "  Plenty  water  in  Little  Beaver,  yes. 
Too  much,  maybe.    Dat  a'right." 

He  and  Billy  shook  hands  like  old  and  valued 
friends.  Then  Billy  turned  to  Dick.  "  Here's  the 
youngster   I  sent  you  word  about,"  he   said. 


22      COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

"  He's  good  friend  o'  mine,  an'  wants  to  get  on 
good  fur-country.  He  wants  you  to  larn  hirn  the 
tricks  o'  the  trade  an'  work  along  with  him.  He'll 
treat  you  right,  Sam.     WTiat  d'ye,     st  ;?  " 

"Dat  a'right,"  replied  the  swarthy  redskin, 
looking  at  the  young  Englishman  with  bright 
but  kindly  black  eyes.     "  What  you  call  him.?  " 

"  Dick  Ramsey,"  replied  Richard,  smiling. 

"Dat  a'right.  Heap  fine  name,  yes.  What  you 
pay,  Dick?" 

^^  "I  want  to  pay  what  is  fair,"  replied  Dick; 
"  but,  mind  you,  I  am  in  here  on  business  and 
not  just  for  fun.  Suppose  the  three  of  us  talk  it 
over,  while  you  have  something  to  eat,  Sam." 

Sober    Sam   ate    very    fast    end    talked    very 
slowly;  but  in  half  an  hour  the  business  was  ar- 
ranged to  every  one's  satisfaction.     BiUy  Blunt 
did  must  of  the  talking  and,  though  he  had  no 
stake  in  the  expedition,  explained  Dick's  case  to 
Sober  Sam  in  a  masterly  manner.    So,  without  any 
sign  of  haggling  on  either  side,  a  fair  agreement 
was  come  to  between  Richard  Ramsey  and  Sober 
Sam.    No  papers  were  signed ;  but  the  two  shook 
hands,  looking  squarely  into  each  other's  eyes. 
"  It  suits  me."  said  the  Enghshman,  "  and  I  feel 
sure  that  we  shall  get  along  splendidly  together." 


-^■ri^^PTB' 


SOBER  SAJVI  AND  HIS  CANOE    23 

"  Dat  a'right.  Dick,  you  bet.  Me  a'mighty 
good  inan  at  de  fur-takin',"  returned  Sober  Sam 
Ten  minutes  later,  BiUy  Blunt  hitched  his 
team  to  the  sled,  bade  good-bye  to  his  old  friend 
and  his  new,  and  started  courageously  back 
toward  the  stumps  and  mud-holes  of  yesterday 

Sober  Sam  drained  the  last  drop  of  tea  out  of 
he  tm  kettle  and  devoured  the  last  slice  of  bacon 
from  the  pan.    Then  he  wiped  his  wide  mouth  on 
the  back  of  his  hand  and  produced  his  pipe  from 
a   pocket   of   his   patched   and    weather-stained 
jumper.     After  knocking  the  ashes  out  of  the 
bowl    he  looked   inquiringly  at  his  companion. 
What  lak  your  tobac,  Dick.?  "  he  aoked 
Dick  took  the  somewhat  broad  hint  and  speedily 
opened  one  of  his  bags  and  produced  a  plug  of 
tobacco  that  he  had  put  in  a  handy  place  for  just 
such  a  toe  as  this.    "  I  think  it  is  good."  he  said, 
though  I  have  not  tried  it  myself.     I  want  to 
grow   for  another  year  or  two  before   I   begin 
smoking."  ^" 

''  You  plenty  big,"  .aid  the  other,  taking  the 
tobacco  and  swiftly  dicing  off  a  pipefull  of  it  with 

this,  Dick?  "  he  asked,  anxiously. 
Dick  reassured  him  on  this  point  by  showing 


':m2rMfi"'  -jisa^B^^r^-^^^^BiLm. 


f  ]l 


IS 


24      COxMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

him    the    sealed    canister.     When  his  pipe  was 
well  alight,  the  old  fellow  got  slowly  to  his  moc- 
casined  feet  and  began  a  minute  survey  of  Dick's 
belongings.     Now  and  again  he  nodded  his  head. 
Now  and  again  he  put  a  brief  question.     "  Dat 
good  outfit,"  he    said,  at    last,   "but  a'mighty 
heavy,  you  bet!     Heap  big  load  for  one  canoe. 
Dick.    Dat  right,  yes.    But  we  tak  him  a'right." 
it  was  a  big  load  and  no  mistake,  and  Dick 
wondered  how  the  old  fellow  would  manage  it. 
But  Billy  Blunt  had  warned  Sober  Sam  of  the 
size  of  the  outfit  and  so  Sam  had  brought  his 
largest    canoe    dovn    from    Two-Fox    Pond— a 
strong,  wide  but  heavy  craft   fully  twenty-two 
feet  in  length.    As  the  birch-bark  canoes  of  this 
region  usually  run  from  sixteen  to  nineteen  feet 
in  length,  this  of  Sober  Sam's  was  a  giant  among 
its  kind. 

They  carried  the  outfit  down  the  twisting  path 
to  the  edge  of  the  river.  There  lav  the  canoe 
lifted  just  clear  of  the  water.  The  Indian  slipped 
It  back  into  the  stream,  in  an  eddy  behind  a  big 
rock,  and  told  Dick  to  hold  it  in  position.  Then 
he  loaded  it,  leaving  room  in  the  bow  for  Dick 
and  in  the  strrn  for  himself.  There  were  two 
paddles  and  an  extra  pole  already  aboard.     At 


'^N^i 


'mrj^ 


SOBER  SAM  AND  HIS  CANOE     25 

last  everything  was  stowed  to  the  old  man's 
taste.  With  his  pole  in  one  hand  and  gripping 
the  gumiel  with  the  other  he  steadied  the  canoe 
while  Dick  crawled  forward  to  his  place. 

Ti.o  canoe  lay  in  an  eddy  of  comparatively 
quiet  water,  with  her  low,  sharp  bow  almost  touch- 
mg  the  big,  sheltering  rock.    Beyond  that  narrow 
haven  the  river  raced  and  bellowed,  breaking  into 
white  "  ripples  "  in  a  hundred  places.     Dick  sat 
very  still,   his  heart  a-flutter  with  excitement 
and  wondered  how  one  old  man  could  dream  of 
forcing  a  canoe  up  that  swiriing  way.  fair  in  the 
white  and  clashing  teeth  of  those  furious  tons  of 
water.    But  he  asked  no  questions.    This  was  one 
of  the  lessons  of  the  new  life  that  he  had  to  learn 
He  glanced  apprehensively  at  the  churning  rapids 
wondered,  and  hoped  for  the  best. 

Presently  he  saw  that  the  bow  of  the  canoe 
was  slipping  sideways  along  the  face  of  the  boulder 
toward   the   outer  tumult.      Slowly,    steadily   it 
moved:   and  now  it  hung  in  the  racing  current 
and  he  felt  the  grip  of  the  water  churning  beneath 
him.    Like  a  sharp  and  solid  rock  the  bow  of  the 
canoe  stood  motionless  against  the  force  of  the 
nver  crowned  and  edged  with  spray.    And  now. 
wonder  of  wonders,  it  began  to  sUp  up  against 


ft 


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A: 

J! 


26     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

all  that  roaring  madness  —  slowly,  smoothly, 
unflinchingly.  Again  it  hung  motionless,  while 
the  white  and  black  water  tossed  and  shouted 
around  it  and  gripped  at  its  spray-hidden  sides. 
Again  it  crawled  forward.  Again  it  hung,  giving 
not  so  much  as  an  inch  to  the  thrust  of  the  stream. 
And  thus,  yard  by  yard,  with  wonderful  cunning, 
old  Sober  Sam  and  his  long  spruce  pole  slid  the 
loaded  canoe  up  through  the  Push-an'-be-dam' 
rapids.  Twice  they  rested  during  the  climb,  each 
time  slipping  aside  into  an  eddy  under  the  wooded 
bank. 

It  was  noon  when  the  unbroken  water  above 
the  rapids  was  reached,  and  Sam  ran  the  nose  of 
the  long  craft  agamst  a  soft  spot  in  the  bank  and 
remarked  that  it  was  time  to  "  bil-  de  kittle." 
Dick  lost  no  time  in  scrambling  ashore.     His  legs 
were  cramped  and  his  head  still  rang  with  the 
tumult  of  the  waters  through  which  they  had  just 
passed.     Here  was  a  strip  of  low,  grass-grown 
shore.    On  both  sides  of  the  river  the  country  was 
flatter  here  than  farther  down  stream.     Great 
cedars  slanted  out  of  the  dusky  forests  and  hung 
their  ragged  branches  over  the  water.    The  river 
ran  black  and  fairiy  swift,  but  unbroken  by  rocks 
and  urn   xed  by  shallo^^■s.     Here  its  voice  was 


^^t 


SOBER  SAM  AND  HIS  CANOE    27 

no  more  than  a  murmur.    But  the  clamour  of  the 
rapids  still  pulsed  in  the  air. 

Sober  Sam  was  as  fresh  as  if  he  had  not  lifted 
a  hand  smce  sun-up.  He  secured  the  canoe  by 
dragging  it  for  half  its  length  on  to  the  soft  grass 
I'hen,  with  his  axe,  he  splintered  a  dry  "  butt;  " 
and  in  another  minute  had  a  fire  goin? 
merrily.  ^ 

"We  go  easy  till   sun-down,"  he   said    "so 
iraybe  you  get  rifle  ready.    You  get  shot,  maybe 
at    moose    or    somethin'.      Dis    a'mighty    good 
country." 

Dick  was  delighted  with  the  suggestion,  and 
immediately  unpacked  his  new  rifle  and  a  dozen 
cartridges.  "  Is  it  a  good  trapping-country,  too?  " 
he  asked. 

Sam  nodded.  "  01'  Pierre  Lacross.  his  country 
dis,"  he  said.  "  Plenty  mink,  plenty  otter,  heap 
fox,  too.     Good  country,  yes." 

"  Does  Pierre  Lacross  live  on  the  river?  "  asked 
Dick.  "  BiUy  did  not  mention  him  to  me.  I 
thought  there  was  no  shack  between  the  end  of 
the  road  and  yours  on  Two-Fox  Pond." 

"  BiUy,  him  not  long  on  Little  Beaver."  repHed 
the  Indian.  "  Dat  shack  you  camp  by  las'  night 
—  dat  Pierre's  shack,  yes." 


i 


I 


28    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


li 


But  nobody  lives  there,  now.    It  is  deserted." 
"  Dat  a'right,  Dick.    Pierre  Lacross,  him  dead 
six-seven  year  back;  but  Pierre  still  trap  on  dis 
country,  yes." 


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M- 


y^ffi?^ 


CHAPTER    III 

THE  STORY  OP  PIERRE  LACROSS.  THE  HALF  -  BREED 
TRAPPER.        TWO  -  FOX    POND 

Young  Dick  Ramsey  stared  in  amazement 
at  his  smoky-faced  guide.  Was  the  old  fellow 
making  fun  of  him?  No,  there  was  not  a  twinkle 
in  the  black  eyes. 

"  But  you  have  just  said  that  he  is  dead.  Dead 
men  don't  trap!  "  exclaimed  Dick. 
^^  Sam  was  slicing  fat  salt  pork  into  the  pan. 
I^Dat  maybe  so  — in  you  country,"  he  said; 
"but  on  Little  Beaver  — well,  dat  right  what  I 
say.  Pierre,  him  dead  a'right-but  still  him 
trap  dis  country,  yes." 

"  That  is  a  queer  story,"  said  Dick.  "  I  can't 
quite  swallow  such  a  steep  yarn  as  that,  Sam. 
Have  you  ever  seen  him  at  work  —  since  his 
death?    Seeing  is  believing,  you  know." 

"  Maybe,"  replied  the  redskin,  calmly.  "  See 
a'mighty  queer  tings,  me.  Anyhow,  tell  you 
queer  story  'bout  Pierre  Lacross." 

He  told  the  story  while  they  ate   their  pork 

2d 


i  I 

'  f 

I 


II 


f;    I 


1  ir 


30 


COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


and  buckwheat  "  flap-jacks "  ami  drank  their 
tea.  Plere  it  is:  but  not  quite  in  Sober  Sam's 
own  words. 

Pierre  Lacrosse  was  a  French  breed  who  ap- 
peared   suddenly,    one    autumn,    on    the    head- 
waters   of    Little    Beaver,    from    no-one-knows- 
where.      He  was  all  alone.      McDodd   was   not 
lumbering  on  the  lower  river  then,  and  that  is 
where    Pierre   commenced   his   trapping.      Sober 
Sam.  going  down  the  river  one  day.  in  January, 
on   his   snow-shoes,    stopped   at    Pierre's   camp.' 
The  half-breed  did  not  seem  at  all  pleased  with  the 
visit  and  failed  to  invite  Sam  to  take  so  much  as 
a  mug  of  tea.    Pierre  seemed  unstrung,  and  could 
not  sit  still  for  a  minute.    He  kept  looking  around 
all  the  time  and  cocking  his  head  sideways  as 
If  listening  for  something.    All  tnese  things  soon 
got  on  Sam's  nerves;  so  he  speedily  hit  the  trail 
again  and  put  five  miles  between  himself  and 
Pierre's  shack  before  halting  to  boil  his  kettle.    He 
had  a  long  journey  before  him.  for  he  was  bound 
for  Wolf's  Landing,  to  buy  provisions.    A  wolver- 
ine had  torn  into  his  stores  and  upset  his  calcula- 
tions.   That  night,  and  the  next,  he  slept  in  the 
snow,  in  a  deep  trench  with  a  fire  at  his  feet. 
Well,  Sam  got  his  flour  and  pork  and  returned  to 


STORY  OF  PIERRE   LACROSS     31 

Two-Fox  Pond  without  calling  on  Pierre  on  his 
return  trip.  He  did  not  sc-e  the  half-l.reed  again 
until  several  years  later. 

When  the  lumbermen  commenced  operations 
on  the  lower  waters  of  Little  Beaver,  Pierre  La 
cross  moved  farther  up  stream  and  built  a  shack 
beside  J^usl.-an'-be-ciam'  rapids.     Now  there  was 
a  ycning  man  named  Running  Thunder,  with  a 
squaw  and  two  papcx^ses.  already  trapping  that 
country.      It    was   ^x^d    country    (perhaps    vou 
would  not  find  any  ^    .  .     if  you  went  all  the  way 
up  to  Hudson  Bay),  anu  had  been  in  the  family 
of  Running  Thunder  for  many  generations.     So 
big  was  the  region,  and  so  lonely,  that  the  young 
man  did  not  know  that  a  stranger  was  taking 
toll  of  his  own  forests  and  streams  until  the  middle 
of  the   first  winter.     Then,  making  the  round  of 
his  traps  one   February  morning,  he  happened 
upon  Pierre's  trail  in  the  snow.     By  the  marks  of 
the  racquets  he  knew  that  the  poacher  (for  Pierre 
was  nothing  else,  according  to  the  laws  of  the 
wilderness)  was  not  a  man  of  his  own  tribe     The 
snow-shoes  of  his  tribe  were  not  so  long  as  these 
impressions  in  the  snow;    also,  they  were  wider 
in  the  frame  and  the  thongs  were  not  strung  in 
the  same  way.     All  these  things  were  as  easily 


'H 


t 


I':  * 


I  ■  ' 


t 


1 


i   l« 


32     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

read  by  Running  Thunder  as  a  printed  page  by 
you.     But  he  learned  more  than  this  from  the 
marks  in  the  snow.     The  poacher  was  light  of 
weight  and  carried  no  load.    He  was  long  of  leg, 
and  fresh.    A  man  without  a  load  must  have  his 
headquarters  somewhere  near.    Therefore  he  was 
not   a  traveller,    but   a   trapper -and   he   was 
trapping   in    Running   Thunder's   own   country. 
Again  the  young  man  stooped  low  over  the  tell- 
tale marks  in  the  snow  and  read  that  the  trespasser 
had  passed  this  way  within  the  hour.     He  hung 
his  three  fresh  fox  skins  in  a  tree,  along  with  the 
frozen  carcasses  of  two  hn-es  that  he  had  found 
in  his  wire  nooses,  and      ah  his  rifle  in  his  hand 
set  off  on  the  straiT'cr's  trail  at  a  brisk  trot. 

It  was  about  noon  when  Running  Thunder 
caught  sight  of  Pierre  Lacross.  Pierre  halted  and 
turned,  and  trembled  like  dry  grass  in  a  wind. 
The  young  man  told  him,  in  broken  French,  that 
he  mu.^t  stop  taking  furs  in  the  Little  Beaver 
country,  between  Push-an'-be-dam'  rapids  and 
Two-Fox  Pond.  All  the  time  that  he  was  talking 
the  other  continued  to  tremble  and  glance  from 
side  to  side. 

"  I  see  that  you  have  the  shadow  of  fear  in  your 
soul  even  now,"  said  Running  Thunder,   "and 


^^^m-^w^:^^^^^^w^m 


STORY  OF  PIERRE  LACROSS     33 

I  teU  you,  by  the  spirit  of  my  father,  you  wiU  have 
a  new  fear  in  your  heart  if  you  do  not  go  out  of 
my  country  before  the  new  moon." 

Then  Pierre  Lacross  answered,  with  his  teeth 
chattering,  "  I  will  stay  here.  I  have  gone  to 
many  places,  even  in  the  settlements,  and  have 
found  no  rest.    So  here  I  mean  to  stay." 

"  Very  good,"  replied  Running  Thunder      "  I 
see,  at  a  glance,  that  you  are  a  man  ridden  by 
black  memories.    But  I  will  not  have  you  in  my 
trapping-grounds,  for  I  have  a  family  to  keep  and 
need  all  the  pelts -and  you  may  bring  a  curse 
on  this  country.    On  the  night  of  the  new  moon 
I  wiU  come  to  your  shack  -  and  if  you  are  there 
1  will  send  your  spirit  away  even  though  your 
body  may  stay." 

Pierre  did  not  seem  to  mind  the  threat.  He 
scarcely  seemed  to  heed  it,  but  kept  glancing 
around  him,  on  every  side. 

•'  My  spirit  will  stay  here,"  he  said.  "  This  is  a 
safe  country." 

Running    Thunder   went    back    to   his    lodge 
wondering  what  the  trouble  was  in  the  poacher's 
m:nd.     It  was  .something  very  black,  for  he  had 
seen  the  shadow  of  it  in  the  shifting  eyes.    How- 
ever,  he  felt  no  pity,  for  the  half-breed's  face  was 


[I. 


It: 


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ii 


t;. 


!    i 


S.'     l-ii 


34     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

bad.  He  returned  to  his  smoky  lodge,  far  over 
on  the  flank  of  Lonely  Mountain,  gave  the  frozen 
hares  to  his  squaw,  cleaned  and  stretched  the 
fox  skins,  and  smoked  his  pipe  for  a  long  time. 
He  did  not  say  a  word  of  the  poacher  to  his 
squaw. 

Nine   days  and  nights  passed  away  and  the 
new  moon,  as  thin  as  a  shaving  in  the  lap  of  a 
paddle-maker,  hung  in  the  frosty  sky.     Running 
Thimder,  quiet  as  a  shadow,  moved  over  to  the 
one  tiny  window  in  Pierre's  shack.     He  held  his 
old,  muzzle-loading  rifle  in  his  hand.     He  saw 
a  red  :-hadow  of  fire-light  against  the  frosted  glass. 
He  knocked  on  the  pane  with  his  gloved  knuckles, 
and  then  (being  of  a  cautious  turn  of  mind)  held 
one  of  his  racquets  across  the  window.     Crack  went 
a  rifle  in  the  cabin,  and  the  glass  broke  tinkhng 
and  the   netting  of  the  snow-shoe  was  ripped. 
Running  Thunder  let  a  terrible,  screeching  groan 
out  of  him  and  dropped  the  snow-shoe.     Ther 
he  brought  his  rifle  up  to  his  shoulder  and  turned 
around  on  his  feet.     He  was  smiling  to  think 
what  would  have  happened  to  him  if  he  had 
put  his  face  in  front  of  the  little  window.     The 
light  was  misty  with  star-shine  but  enough  for 
his  purpose.     He  heard  the  door  of  the  shack 


It 

1,  ;  F 


STORY  OF  PIERRE  LACROSS     36 

swing  open.  He  heard  incautious  footsteps  on 
the  packed  snow.  Then  Pierre  Lacross  appeared 
around  the  comer,  anxious  to  take  a  look  at  his 
victim.  But  he  never  saw  him.  Running  Thunder 
aimed  dehberately  and  pulled  the  trigger. 

Running   Thunder  wrought   according  to  his 
lights  —  and  they,  like  the  star-shine,  were  some- 
what misty.    But  a  man  must  defend  his  rights. 
Also,  had  not  the  stranger  fired  the  first  shot?    He 
had  no  mind  to  get  the  law  on  his  trail,  however  — 
for  sometimes  the  law  reached  its  arm  even  up 
into  that  vast  wilderness.     Now,  Running  Thun- 
der knew  well  that  the  law  of  the  wilds  and  the 
law  of  the  courts  did  not 'agree  on  all  points,  and 
he  had  no  wish  to  set  them  clashing.     He  had 
done  his  duty  — and  the  less  known  of  it  the 
better.     So  he  stripped  the  cold  body  of  the 
poacher  and  burned  the  clothing  on  the  fire  that 
still  danced  on  the  hearth.     Then,   leaving  the 
cabin  as  he  had  found  it  —  save  for  the  presence 
of  the  owner,  —  he  dragged  the  naked  body  far 
away  across  the  frozen  snow.     At  last  he  un- 
fastened the  thong  by  which  he  had  drawn  it 
along,  and  left  it  lying  stiff  and  slim  in  the  misty 
star-shine.      "  The   foxes   will   pick   his   bones," 
he  said.     It  was  dawn  when  he  got  back  to  his 


M 


I  f' 

I, 


!iii 


'V  > 


iiii  > 

5  iff 

I  if 

H  ill 


36    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

lodge.  He  said  nothing  of  his  night's  work  to  his 
sqviaw. 

It  was  not  until  May  that  any  questions  were 
asked  about  Pierre  Lacross.  It  was  a  tall,  red- 
haired  policeman  from  Quebec  who  was  looking 
for  the  half-breed.  He  had  some  men  from 
Wolf's  Landing  with  him.  Well,  there  was 
Pierre's  shack,  anyway.  The  door  was  open; 
the  frying-pan  lay  on  the  floor  beside  the  hearth; 
a  gold  watch  hung  on  a  nail  at  the  head  of  the 
bunk;  there  were  snow-shoes,  rifle,  tea-kettle, 
everything.  A  bear  had  torn  open  several  bags 
of  provisions  and  a  pair  of  mice  had  built  a  nest 
among  the  blankets  in  the  bunk.  But  the  trapper 
was  gone.  Yes,  he  had  been  gone  a  long  while  — 
two  or  three  months,  by  the  look  of  things. 

"  I  wanted  him  bad,"  said  the  policeman.  "  He 
killed  his  wife,  down  in  the  Tobique  country,  three 
years  ago."    Then  he  went  back  to  Oiiebec. 

It  was  early  in  the  following  winter  that  Run- 
ning Ihunder,  nis  squaw  and  the  two  papooses 
paid  a  visit  to  Sober  Sam's  shack  on  Two-Fox 
Pond.  They  had  all  their  gear  with  them — 
traps,  grub  and  blankets. 

Sam  fed  them  before  he  asked  any  questions. 
As  soon  as  he  put   the   first  question,  Running 


STORY  OF  PIERRE  LACROSS     37 

Thunder  gave  him  a  look  and  then  told  some  fool- 
ish story  about  the  fur  being  all  killed-out  along 
Little  Beaver.  Sam,  of  course,  pretended  to 
agree  with  him.  When  the  squaw  and  the  little 
ones  were  asleep  Running  Thunder  told  the 
truth.  He  and  Sober  Sam  belonged  to  the  same 
tribe,  and  so  he  knew  that  his  secret  was  safe. 
So  he  told  about  the  poacher,  and  how  he  had 
shot  him  and  then  put  him  out  on  the  snow  for 
the  foxes. 

"  He  was  a  bad  man,"  said  the  brave.  "  The 
policeman  came  for  him,  for  he  had  killed  his 
wife.  But  he  said  his  spirit  would  stay  in  this 
country  — and  he  said  the  truth!  His  spirit 
is  trapping  on  Little  Beaver.  I  have  seen  it. 
I  do  not  know  if  it  takes  any  furs  —  but  there 
is  not  room  for  two  in  that  country,  so  I  have 
come  away.  I  will  ^o  over  into  the  Neepicsis 
country.  I  do  not  like  to  meet  the  spirit  of  that 
half-breed  when  I  go  the  round  of  my  traps." 

Sober  Sam  thought  that  the  young  man  was 
afraid  of  his  own  memories.  He  gave  him  two 
pounds  of  tobacco,  and  three  tins  of  condensed 
milk,  and  wished  him  luck  in  the  Neepicsis 
country.  So  Running  Thunder  and  his  family 
went  far  aw^/  to  the  westward.    Two  days  later, 


ii 


-  r- 


UK 


■':i 


u 


•I 


38    COMRADES  OF  TKE  TRAILS 

Sam  made  up  a  small  pack  an'1  vvf-nl  dc  An  stream 
into  the  country  that  his  friend  had  left.  It  was 
a  fine  place  for  mink,  otter,  fox  and  ermine  — 
and  perhaps  he  would  get  a  few  traps  in  the  most 
likely  spots.  This  would  be  perfectly  honest, 
for  now  it  was  a  no-man's  land.  He  spent  a 
week  in  the  deserted  territory,  and  in  that  time 
took  two  fine  otters,  a  patch  fox  and  three  mink. 
He  had  visions  of  wealth  — of  great  wealth  to 
be  quickly  spent  down  in  the  settlements.  But, 
one  starlit  night,  he  saw  something  that  drove 
the  thought  of  wealth  quite  out  of  his  mind. 
He  saw  Pierre  Lacross,  stark  naked,  walking 
over  the  snow  light  as  a  feather  and  glancing 
from  side  to  side  as  if  looking  for  something 
that  he  did  not  want  to  see. 

So  he  struck  out  for  his  own  country  without 
waiting  for  morning. 

And  that  is  the  story  of  Pierre  Lacross,  told 
by  Sober  Sam  to  Dick  Ramsey,  over  a  meal  of 
fried  pork  and  milkless  tea. 

When  the  old  man  had  finished  speaking  Dick 
gazed  at  him  in  silence  for  fully  a  minute. 

"Do  you  really  expect  me  to  — to  swallow 
that,  Sam?  "  he  asked,  at  last. 

"Swallow?     How  you  mean?"  inquired  the 


j  I 


ii^ 


STORY  OF  PIERRE  LACROSS    39 

guide,  looking  at  him  with  deep,  unblinking  eyes. 
"  You  swallow  tea  and  pork,  yes.  What  you 
mean,  Dick?  " 

Dick  felt  confused.  "  Now  about  that  spirit? 
Do  you  want  me  to  think  that  you  have  told  me 
a  true  story?  Perhaps  you  are  only  playing  a 
joke  on  me.  But  it  is  a  beastly  yam,  and  no  mis- 
take. Honestly,  Sam,  do  you  expect  me  to 
believe  that  you  saw  the  spirit  of  Pierre  Lacross 
walking  on  the  snow?  " 

Sober  Sam  gazed  at  the  young  man  steadily 
for  a  long  time.  Then  he  turned  his  eyes  to  the 
canoe  and  pointed  at  it  with  his  hand.  "  Me 
see  one  good  canoe.    B'lieve  dat?  " 

"Yes." 

"  A'right.  Den  you  b'lieve  me  see  what  you 
hear.  Sam  no  liar!  He  tell  truth,  yes.  What 
you  t'ink  him  not  trap  dat  good  country  for, 
anyhow?  What  you  t'ink  no  one  trap  it  for? 
Injun  know  one  t'ing  — white  man  know  some- 
thin'  else.  You  trap  dis  country,  Dick,  an' 
maybe  you  know  as  much  as  Sam.  Me  trap 
him  once.    Dat  heap  too  much!   yes." 

Dick  was  puzzled.  He  did  not  believe  in  any 
such  tommyrot  as  this  —  and  yet  he  was  sure  that 
Sam  was  not  joking  with  him.    It  was  quite  evi- 


■W^W! 


'A-JiSL  . 


I 


m 


I" 

I 

i 


'.  # 
14 


■If 


40     COMRADES  OF  THE   TRAILS 

dent  that  the  old  redskin  beheved  every  wed  of 
his  crazy  story. 

"  Heap  more  queer  t'ing  nor  dat  in  de  woods," 
said  Sam,  gently.  "  You  larn  plenty,  bime- 
bye." 

Dick  said  nothing  more  about  the  strange  story 
just  then ;  but  it  was  a  long  time  before  he  could 
get  it  out  of  his  mind.    As  soon  as  the  old  tribes- 
man had  smoked  his  pipe  to  the  bitter  heel  the 
canoe  was  shoved  into  the  water  again  and  the 
voyage    was   continued.      They    still    kept    close 
to  the  shore,  for  the  current  was  too  strong  for 
a  comfortable  use  of  the  paddles.      Sam  stood, 
bending  easily  to  every  thrust  of  the  long  pole. 
Dick  sat  at  his  ease  in  the  bow,  with  his  rifle  be- 
tween his  knees.    The  sun  rode  high  in  the  south, 
flooding  the  pver  and  the  gloomy  forests  with 
gold.    Dick  fondled  his  rifle,  eager  for  a  chance  to 
exhibit  to  his  companion  his  skill  with  the  weapon. 
He  had  shot  for  his  school  in  more  than  one  big 
match  and  had  done  his  share  toward  winning 
more  than  one  cup.    But  he  had  never  squinted 
along  the  sights  at  a  living  target.     He  had  been 
told  that  this  was  quite  a  different  game   from 
match  shooting.    As  the  canoe  slipped  noiselessly 
up  stream  he  scanned  the  rugged  shores  with  keen 


'■'^aim 


STORY  OF  PIERRE  LACROSS     41 

and  eager  eyes.    He  could  see  nothing  but  shining 
water  and  overhanging  shadows. 

Suddenly  the  canoe  stopped  dead  in  its  smooth 
advance.     Dick  glanced  over  his  shoulder  and 
saw  that  Sober  Sam  was  pointing  straight  ahead 
with  his  left  hand  while  he  held  the  canoe  firm 
against  the  current  with  his  right.     He  turned 
and  again  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  dusky  shores.    Ah ! 
there  was  something.     But  what?    It  was  black 
bulky  and  motionless.     Was  it  a  bush,  standing 
close  to  the  water's  edge.  taUer  by  a  foot  or  two 
than  the  surrounding  brush.?    Did  it  move?    What 
was  that  on  top  of  it,  that  caught  the  glint  of  the 
sun?     He  oegan  to  tremble.     Then  he  heard  a 
low  whisper  behind  him.     "  Bull  moose.     'Bout 
seventy  yard."    The  .shell  was  in  the  breech   the 
mark  was  motionless  and  the  canoe  was  steady. 
Seventy  yards  —  point-blank  range.     The  back- 
sight was  flat.     All  was  ready -and  it  was  an 
easy    shot.      But  Dick's   hands  trembled.      He 
pressed  his  elbows  against  the   gunnels  of  the 
canoe;  but  it  was  no  use.    His  arms  jumped  like 
newly-landed  fish.    A  mist  swam  across  his  vision 
Then  he  saw  the  great,  black  head  sway  a  little 
and  the  massive,  branching  antlers  flash  in  the 
sun.    He  rubbed  the   mist    from  his   eyes  and 


42     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


h   %i 


n    ; 


raised  his  ritie.  The  butt-plate  bounced  against 
his  shoulder  as  if  it  were  alive  and  the  barrel 
wobbled  and  canted. 

Dick  knew  what  the  trouble  was.  This  was 
a  severe  attack  of  the  "  buck  fever  "  that  he 
had  heard  men  speak  of  in  Quebec  and  at  Wolf's 
Landing.  It  is  an  absolute  panic  of  the  nerves 
that  conies  to  most  people  when  they  first  try 
to  bring  the  tip  of  the  foresight  and  the  "  V  " 
of  the  backsight  into  line  against  a  hairy  flank 
or  neck. 

At  last,  in  sheer  desperation,  Dick  pressed  the 
trigger.  At  the  sharp  report  there  was  a  fine 
commotion  in  the  bushes  as  the  great  bull  flung 
himself  around  and  found  his  stride  for  th«.  tall 
timber. 

Again  the  canoe  began  to  move  up  against  the 
current.  Dick  turned  a  flushed  face  toward  his 
companion.  The  old  man  was  poling  easily, 
and  smiling.  "  Plenty  heap  more  moose  where 
him  come  from,"  he  said.  And  then,  "  You  pull 
de  trigger  a'right,  anyhow,  Dick.  You  hit  some- 
t'ing  nex'  time,  maybe." 


^'  jtk 


CHAPTER    IV 

BRUIN    ON   THE    PORTAGE.       SIGNS   OF    A   THIEF 

That  night  they  slept  in  the  open,  with  their 
feet  to  a  fire  of  white  birch;  and  next  morning 
they  came  to  the  foot  of  Trap  Rapids. 

"  The  devil  couldn't  pole  canoe  up  him,"  said 
Sober  Sam;    so  the  canoe  was  run  ashore  and 
unloaded  and  a  portage  was  made.     It  was  a 
half-mile  portage  —  and  it  was  a  good  deal  harder 
to  make  than  to  write  about.     The  outfit  alone 
could  not  be  carried  around  the  rapids  in  less 
than  four  loads  and  the  empty  canoe  made  a 
fifth.      Sam   arranged   the   packs   and   off  they 
started  on  the  first  trip.     The  trail  was  narrow 
and    twisting,    leading    over    rocky    hummocks, 
around  mud-holes  and  fallen  trees  and  through 
tangled  bottoms.     The  Indian  jogged  along  and 
Dick  did  his  best  to  keep  up  with  him.    The  guide 
was  sooxi  out  of  sight,  however,  and  the  young 
Englishman  was  left  to  follow  as  best  he  could. 
He  soon  discovered  that  the  pack  on  his  should-rs 
was  heavier  than  he  had  at  first  supposed.     It 

43 


W-{i^^M   -i:fX-      .M.         I 


t- 


■i 


f 


H 


'p  '-" 


44     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

de\  Inped  several  sharp  comers,  too,  that  prodded 
him  at  every  step.  The  stake  across  his  right 
shoulder,  by  which  the  pack  was  kept  high  up 
apn'i!?t  his  neck,  seemed  to  be  cutting  him  to  the 
borr  Put  he  kept  bravely  alot  it.  stooping  far 
fccward  V  ease  the  drag  on  his  shoulder;  Tie 
ha  1  mat  if  about  half  the  joum(  when  he  naet 
SobvT  S.'.n  retui'  Jng,  empty-handed. 

'  You  do  mighty  g(x»d  for  ^'reenhorn  "  re- 
marked Sam,  pashsng  with  a  grin.  Dick  torced 
a  grin  in  reply  and  staggered  on  Now  he  was 
looking  for  an  xcuse  to  let  the  pack  slip  to  the 
ground.  He  was  big  and  str-ong  for  his  age;  but 
he  was  not  toughened  to  this  sort  of  thi  ;g. 

Suddenly  an  excuse  for  .  Irijpping  the  pack  pre- 
sented itself  in  the  trail  bttore  him.     Rounding  a 
comer  of  tumbled   -ocks    md  tangled  brush  he 
beheld  the  excuse  standing  m  his  path,  not  n  ore 
than  twenty  yards  away,   in  the  form  of  a    >ig 
black  bear.     Dick   halted,   at  first   to     amaz    ! 
to  loosen  his  grip  on  the  stake  on  hi'    shou: 
and  let  the  pack  fall  to  the  trail  behir  ^   lim.    Ji-^ 
stood    there     hunched    forward,    stamig   at   the 
bear.    He  tried  to  recall  to  his  mind  all  tl  it  he  had 
ever  read  about  the  bears  of  this  com     v.     He 
remembered  that  the}    were  not  danger  us  Hkc 


BRUIN   ON  THE  PORTAGE      45 


the  grizzly  of  the  far  west,  in    ict  that  they  were 


timid 

iright  en  them  —  yes 
how  was  ne  to  kno 
in  this  pan  of  the  . 


th  s  year  uu 
Iraiitic   u  *h 
gentle  br 
ing     he 
to  its  ket'5 
1         dec 
to  f^isi    leii  , 
an 
fa 


try  hungr       A  shout  would 

he  had   rea     that.     But 

'  that  the  blueberry  crop 

untry  i  ad  'een  very  light 


tl  is  particular  bear  was  quite 

hf  ^nawings  of  hung,  r?     And  a 

M  :Tom  Dick  to  thi     ear,  carry- 

3.n  th     provisions     .  the  pack 


i  Liiat  the      .rrect  thing  to  do  was 

uin  out  of  his  path;   sf>  he  shouted 

Laggered  toward  it.    But  he  di(    not  stagger 

.o  his  dismay,  the  bear  aros^     leavily  but 


.s^^  tly  to  its  hind  legs  and  storni  the  narrow 
tra.J,  swaying  slightly  from  side  i  Again 

V  c  ne  to  a  sudden  halt;   but  he  was 

wthin  i  tteen  yards  of  the  bear.    He  a  good 

.  lew  of  Its  small,  red  eyes,  its  half-open  mouth  and 
^mall,  gleaming  teeth,  its  big  paws  hanging  before 
its  massive  chest.  He  took  note  of  these  things  — 
and  then  he  let  hi^  f);ick  slip  from  his  shoulders 
and  turned  and  started  back  along  the  trail.  He 
.  oked  over  his  shoulder  as  he  ran,  and  seeing 
that  the  bear  was  not  following  him  with  that 
swift  but  lumbering   run  of  which   he   had   so 


'' 


1  ^'i' 


^  't 


ii  .-J 


i!  '' 


t 


46     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

often  read  he  halted  and  turned  again.  He 
saw  bruin  drop  to  all-fours  and  walk  along  to 
the  fallen  pack.  He  saw  him  sniff  the  several 
bags  and  packages  inquiringly,  then  raise  one 
of  his  great  paws  and  strike  sharply  at  one  of  the 
bags.  One  blow  did  the  work.  The  bag  was 
ripped  from  top  to  bottom  and  out  flowed  the 
evaporated  apples  in  white  and  tender  fragments. 
Bruin  sniffed  again,  then  began  to  eat  greedily 
and  with  evident  relish.  This  was  too  much  for 
Dick  Ramsey. 

"  The  black  robber!  "  he  muttered.  "  What  I 
need  is  my  rifle." 

So  he  turned  and  started  back  toward  the 
canoe  at  his  best  pace.  But  he  had  not  gone  far 
before  he  met  Sober  Sam,  bent  almost  double 
under  his  load  but  jogging  along  as  if  this  portage 
work  was  no  more  trouble  than  eating  dinner. 
Sam  leaned  backward  against  a  tree,  thus  easing 
himself  of  the  weight  of  the  pack,  while  Dick 
told  him  about  the  bear  in  a  few  breathless  words. 

"Skin  good?"  asked  the  Indian,  calmly. 
"  Fur  plenty  thick?  " 

"  Yes,  it  seemed  to  be  in  fair  condition.  His 
teeth  and  claws  were  in  good  shape,  anyway," 
replied  Dick. 


BRUIN  ON  THE  PORTAGE      47 

"  Dat  so.  Fur  gettin'  thick  now,  for  winter. 
Pretty  good,  maybe,  but  better  one  moon  later. 
A'right,  we  shoot  him.  You  hurry,  Dick,  or  old 
b'ar  he  get  awful  belly-ache  with  all  dem  apples. 
He  get  away,  maybe,  an'  drink  plenty  water. 
Den  apples  swell  an'  old  b'ar  he  bust." 

Dick  was  soon  back  with  the  rifle.  Sober  Sam 
lowered  his  pack  to  the  trail  and  straightened 
his  back. 

"  You  shoot  or  me  shoot.?  "  he  asked. 
"I  — I  think  I'll  have  another  try,"  replied 
Dick,  blushing  at  the  memory  of  his  shot  at  the 
moose.     "  I  was  in  a  blue  funk  yesterday;   but 
I  must  get  over  that." 

"A'right,"  said  Sam.  "You  just  t'ink  him 
one  target  an'  shoot  him  bull's  eye." 

They  went  forward  quietly  and  soon  came  in 
sight  of  the  bear.  He  was  still  busy  with  the 
evaporated  apples  and  seemed  to  be  tremendously 
pleased  with  himself  and  his  surroundings. 

"It  seems  a  pity  to  shoot  him  when  he  is  en- 
joying himself  so,"  whispered  Dick. 

"  Dat  what  you  t'ink  about  bull  moose,  yes- 
terday, maybe,"  returned  Sober  Sam  with  a  sly 
grin.  Dick  saw  that  pity  had  no  place  in  the 
work  in  hand  and  that  his  budding  reputation 


nm. 


m-  H 


Ifi 


''    1 


li!     ^ 

H    1 


I 


tU 


t 


48     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

as  a  woodsman  and  fur-taker  w?,s  at  stake.  He 
lay  flat  and  brought  the  sights  in  line  against 
a  vital  spot  under  the  bear's  left  shoulder.  He 
took  the  Indian's  advice  and  imagined  that  the 
hairy  form  was  nothing  but  a  lifeless  target. 
So  successful  was  this  that  one  shot  was  enough. 
The  bear  rolled  over,  kicked  feebly  and  then  lay 
still. 

"  Now  we  skin  him  —  an'  den  we  finish  port- 
age," remarked  Sober  Sam. 

Dick  was  not  so  cool  about  it  as  his  companion. 
He  rushed  forward  and  examined  the  bulky, 
lifeless  body  with  mingled  sensations  of  pride 
and  pity.  Blood  stained  the  evaporated  apples 
that  still  remained  upon  the  ground.  Thin  flakes 
of  the  dned  fruit  still  hung  from  the  bear's  stiff 
jaws.  It  was  a  pitiful  sight;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  was  his  first  bear  —  the  first  large  animal 
that  had  ever  fallen  to  his  rifle  —  the  beginning 
of  his  career  as  a  fu.'-taker.  One  who  takes  toll 
of  the  wilderness,  with  trap  and  rifle,  must  harden 
himself  to  the  sight  of  blood  and  huddled,  lifeless 
forms. 

The  skinning  of  the  bear  was  a  task  that  took 
a  good  deal  of  time,  skill  and  strength.  Dick 
supplied  some  of  the  required  strength  and  ob- 


'^sfer 


BRUIN  ON  THE  PORTAGE       49 

tained  a  useful  lesson.  With  the  hide  oflf  the 
carcass  was  found  to  be  very  thin.  They  threw 
it  aside  into  a  thicket  of  spruces  and  went  on 
with  the  task  of  transporting  the  outfit  from 
the  foot  of  the  rapids  to  the  top.  It  was  close 
upon  noon  when  Sam  made  the  last  trip,  with 
the  canoe  upon  his  shoulders,  bottom-up. 

Two-Fox  Pond  was  reached  safely  early  in  the 

afternoon.    It  was  a  good-sized  lake,  about  three 

miles  in  length  and  from  half  a  mile  to  a  mile  in 

width.    The  forests  hemmed  it  in  like  a  crowding 

army;  pine,  spruce  and  cedar  on  the  lower  ground 

and  maple  and  birch  on  the  ridges  of  the  hills. 

Sober  Sam's  shack  was  near  the  lower  end  of  the 

lake.     Three  miles  across  the  hills  from  the  upper 

end  lay  another  lake  and  the  head-waters  of  Smoky 

River.    The  lake  was  called  Smoky  Pot.    On  the 

height  of  land  between  Two-Fox  Pond  (the  rise 

of  Little  Beaver)   and  Smoky  Pot   (the  rise  of 

Smoky  River)  stood   Wigwam  Mountain.     Dick 

learned  this,  and  much  more  of  the  surrounding 

country,  gradually. 

The  brief  Indian  summer  soon  passed  —  a 
fleeting  season  of  warmth  and  gold  and  blue 
haze  after  the  first  frost.  The  Indians  say  it  is 
in    these    beautiful    days    that    the    Sim    God 


ri 


t^ij. 


"i 


i!  'i< 
U 


.:|  p 


i!! 


Ili 


50     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

smokes  his  pipe  before  retiring  to  his  lodge  for 
his  long  winter  sleep.    The  azure  haze  on  the  hiUs 
is  the  smoke  of  his  giant  pipe  and  the  warmth  is 
the  glow  of  the  burning  tobacco  in  the  great 
bowl.     All  too  soon  he   draws  the  last  whiff; 
then  he  shakes  the  dead  ashes  out  of  his  pipe 
and  frost  and  snow  descend  upon  the  wilderness. 
Ice    formed    across    Two-Fox    Pond    early    in 
NoN^ember.     Then  the  first  heavy  fall  of  snow 
came   in  the  night,   cloaking  the   wilderness   a 
foot  deep.     By  this  time   the  canoe  was  in   a 
snug  shelter  of  bark,  and  one  long  line  of  traps 
was  set.    This  line  ran  westward  from  the  shack 
for  a  distance  of  about  twelve  miles,  and  was  to 
be  Dick's  especial  care.    It  skirted  several  name- 
less ponds,  crossed  three  small  streams  and  some 
considerable  hills,   and  twisted  through  gloomy 
forests  and  over  desolate  barrens.     Fifteen  traps 
and  dead-falls  were  set  on  this  line  —  three  dead- 
faUs  for  bear,  steel  traps  for  fox  and  sable,  and 
some  snares  of  Sam's  own  invention  for  mink 
and  ermine.    The  Indian  intended  to  run  another 
line  of  traps  up  the  eastern  shore  of  the  lake, 
across  the  height  of  land  and  around  the  base 
of  Wigwam   Mountain;    and  still  another  down 
the  river  to  the  edge  of  the  country  that  used  to 


h  i: 


if: 


^'^IS- 


BRUIN  ON  THE  PORTAGE      51 

be  trapped  by  Pierre  Lacross.    But  all  this  could 
not  be  done  in  a  day  —  nor  yet  in  ten  days. 

Sober  Sam  taught  Dick  to  walk  and  run  on 
the  snow-shoes  or  racquets,  to  handle  an  axe 
in  true  woodsman  style,  to  distinguish  the  trails 
of  various  animals  in  the  snow  and  to  observe 
the  general  lie  and  character  of  the  country 
through  which  they  travelled.  Dick  proved  him- 
self a  quick  student;  but  even  to  the  quickest 
the  science  and  thousand  nice  points  of  wood- 
craft are  not  mastered  in  a  dozen  lessons. 

The   first   snow-fall  was  soon   fDllowed  by  a 
second  — and    now   winter   was   upon   them   in 
earnest.    The  frost  struck  deep  into  earth,  water 
and  wood.     Under  the  snow  the  forest  mould 
was  hard  as  iron.    The  inmost  fibres  of  the  great 
trees    were   gripped    by    the    knife-edged    frost. 
The   rivers   were   muffled   under  ever-thickening 
roofs  of  ice,  and  even  the  clashing  rapids  were 
bridged  and  shackled  save  for  a  tiny  air-hole  here 
and  there.    But,  day  after  day,  the  small,  colour- 
less sun  accomplished  his  brief  voyage  across  a 
cloudless  sky. 

Early  one  morning,  at  the  break  of  dawn, 
Dick  set  out  alone  to  make  his  first  round  of 
inspection  of  the  westward  line  of  traps.     He 


■L-..L. 


^ 


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:     i      iff 


{ 


! 


Tl 


•4: 


'iJ 


B  : 


;»    i  I 


ii 


52    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

carried  his  sleeping-bag  (in  case   some  accident 
should  keep  him  abroad  aU  night),  tea  and  a  tin 
kettle,  a  little  cold  bacon  and  bread,  his  rifle, 
axe  and  a  small  compass.     He  had  eaten  a  good 
breakfast   and    stepped   out    manfully   into   the 
frosty,  silent  forest.     The  first  lights  were  just 
lifting,  low  and  wide,  above  the  eastern  and  south- 
eastern hills.     He  felt  proud,  and  eager  for  ad- 
venture.    He  reached  the  first  trap  within  half 
an  hour  of  leaving  the  shack  and  found  the  frozen 
remains  —  fragments  of  bone  and  skin,  a  brush 
and  the  distorted  mask  —  of  a  red  fox.    He  knew 
tins  to  be  the  work  of  the  wolverine,  from  stories 
his  companion  had  told  him  of  the  habits  of  the 
beasts  of  this  country.     Even   for  a   wolverine 
it  must  have  l)een  a  very  tough  and  unsavoury 
meal.     He  cleared  up  the  mess,  reset  the  trap 
and  rebaited  it  with  a  piece  of  rabbit  flesh  and 
then  looked  around  for  some  sign  of  the  glutton- 
ous thief.     He  found  its  tracks  leading  to  and 
away  from  the  trap,  but  the  outlines  of  the  foot- 
prints were  so  smeared  that  he  knew  the  visit 
had  been  made  several  days  before.     So  he  con- 
tinued on  his  way,  having  no  time  to  waste  in 
hunting  for  the  wolverine  which,  no  doubt,  was 
miles  away  by  this  time  — even  taking  toll  of 


BRUIN  ON  THE  PORTAGE      53 

another  of  his  traps,  perhaps.  It  would  have 
gone  hard  with  the  greedy  thief  if  Dick  had  caught 
a  sight  of  him  just  then. 

The  sun  was  up  now,  and  Dick  mr         along 
his  line  at  a  good  pace.     He  found  the  .^cond 
trap  empty  and  undisturbed;    but  there  were 
plenty  of  "  signs  "  in  the  snow  around  it.     He 
saw  where  a  fox  had  circled  it  several  times  and 
a  lynx  had  come  within  a  foot  of  it.     Deciding 
that  something  was  wrong  with  the  location  of  the 
trap  or  the  way  it  had  been  set,  he  uncovered 
it  and  unfastened  the  chain  which  held  it  to  the 
base  of  a  small  spruce  tree.    Then  he  drew  on  an 
extra  pair  of  mittens,  the  palms  of  which  had 
been  smeared  with  bacon  fat  to  kill  the  man- 
smell,  lifted  the  trap  and  carried  it  to  a  new  posi- 
tion about  ten  yards  away  from  the  old.     After 
placing  it  to  his  taste  he  brushed  the  snow  lightly 
over  it  with  a  spruce  branch  and  over  the  nearer 
marks  of  his  snow-shoes  as  well.    This  precaution 
was  not  to  hide  his  tracks  but  to  bury  the  scent 
of  where  his  moccasins  touched  the  snow.     The 
noses  of  the  wilderness  folk  are  keen  to  discover 
the  smell  of  man. 

Dick  found  a  mink  in  the  third  trap,  a  large 
specimen  with  the  fur  in  perfect  condition.    He 


i 
^1' 


:■! 


I 


1 .. 


!  1. 


4  i»' 

i  s 

?•> 

.  '  ■» 

1 1 

I 


54     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

did  not  stop  to  skin  it  then,  but  drew  down  a 
maple  sapling,  fastened  the  long,  slim  body  to 
the  top  and  let  the  young  tree  spring  back  to  an 
upright  position.    Little  he  thought,  when  he  thus 
put  the  body  of  the  mink  out  of  harm's  way  from 
the  hungry  prowlers  of  the  forest  that  he  was 
sealing   the    fate   of  his    enemy   the    wolverine. 
Later,   Dick  found  two  common  foxes  and  an 
ermine.    He  dealt  with  the  foxes  as  he  had  with 
the  mink;    but  he  put  the  little  ermine  in  his 
pocket.     He  had  a  great  deal  of    difficulty  in 
finding  some  of  the  traps:   and  by  noon  he  had 
not  covered  more  than  half  of  his  outward  jour- 
ney.   He  made  a  small  fire,  boiled  the  kettle  and 
steeped  tea,  and  ate  half  of  his  bread  and  bacon. 
He  saw  that  he  should  have  to  deal  with  the 
remainder  of  the  traps  much  more  quickly  than 
he  had  been  able  to  with  the  others  to  get  back 
to  the  shack  that  night.     Just  then  the  thought 
of  spending  the  night  alone   in  the   forest  was 
not  unpleasant.     The  .un  was  shining  brightly, 
you  see,  and  he  was  in  fine  feather  over  the  mink, 
the  ermine  and  the  two  foxes.     But,  c     n  then, 
he  hoped  that  luck  would  be  with  h 
nighc  would  find  him  in  h 


m  ad  that 
own  familiar  bunk. 
Luck  was  against  him.  however,  as  far  as  ma- 


is 


BRUIX  OX  THE  PORTAGE       55 

king  a  swift  journey  was  concerned.    He  passed 
an  empty  dead- fall  and  several  more  empty  traps 
and  congratulated  himself  on  making  very  good 
time.     But  when  he  arrived  at  the  edge  of  the 
big  barren  he  saw  something  that  promised  to 
delay  him.    Not  more  than  forty  yards  away,  and 
moving  at  a  leisurely  pace  across  his  position, 
was  a  small  herd  of  caribou.     There  were  five 
animals  in  the  herd;    and  the  leader  was  a  fine 
stag  with  broad  and  many-pointed  antlers.    This 
was  a  chance  that  Dick  could  not  let  pass  un- 
challenged, no  matter  what  delay  it  might  cause 
him.     Here  was  a  chance  for  his  first  caribou, 
for  a  store  of  fresh  meat  for  himself  and  his  com- 
panion, and  for  a  fine  pair  of  antlers.     He  was 
excited;   but  he  forced  his  hands  and   eyes    to 
steadiness,  lay  down  in  the  snow,  took  a  quick 
but    sure    aim   and    pressed    the    trigger.     The 
stag  halted,  threw  back  its  fine  head,  staggered 
forward  a  few  paces  and  then  plunged  on  collapsed 
knees  into  the  feathery  snow.    Twice  it  struggled 
to  its  feet.    Twice  it  fell  again;   and  then  it  lay 
still.     The  rest  of  the  herd  stood  around  their 
fallen  leader  in  wonder  for  several  seconds;   but 
suddenly,  getting  a  sniff  of  the  warm  blood,  they 
dashed  away. 


^ 

i 

li 

t 

1 
1 

■ 

1 

1 

1; 

:<     i  » 
:!     ;  1 


J;i 


»H>i 


CHAPTER   V 

A    HAIR  -  RAISING    NIGHT.       A    STRANGE    DISCOVERY 
IN    THE    MORNING 

When  Dick  reached  the  stag  he  found  it  dead 
as  wood.  The  bullet  had  entered  behind  the  left 
shoulder,  had  passed  through  the  heart  and 
come  out  at  the  base  of  the  neck  on  the  right  side. 
He  was  glad  that  he  had  made  such  a  clean,  sure, 
merciful  shot.  Drawing  his  knife  from  its  leather 
sheath  he  bled  the  carcass  according  to  instruc- 
tions received  from  Sober  Sam.  He  did  not  like 
the  job;  but  in  the  wilderness  a  man  must  do 
whatever  comes  to  his  hand.  Out  on  the  treeless 
barren  he  felt  the  icy  thrust  of  the  wind;  so 
he  laid  hold  of  the  hind  legs  of  the  stag  and 
dragged  it,  by  short  stages,  to  the  edge  of  the 
woods.  Then  he  began  to  skin  it.  Poor  Dick! 
The  carcass  was  already  as  stiff  as  a  log  and  the 
air  was  so  bitterly  cold  that  he  could  not  uncover 
his  hands  for  more  than  a  few  seconds  at  a  time. 
The  blood  froze  on  his  woollen,  fur-lined  mittens, 
stiffening  them  so  that  he  could  scarcely  close 

56 


A  HAIR-RAISING  NIGHT       57 

his  hand  on  the  haft  of  his  knife.  As  fast  as  he 
puUed  the  hide  away  from  the  carcass  it  became 
as  hard  as  a  board. 

Dick  saw  that,  if  he  finished  the  skinning  and 
cuttmg  of  the  caribou,  he  would  not  only  have 
to  spend  the  night  in  the  open,  but  would,  very 
likely,  have  to  leave  the  inspection  of  the  re- 
mammg  traps  until  morning.     Already,  the  sun 
was  low  upon  the  hills  in  front  of  him.     Long 
shadows    slanted   across  the   snow.      He    gazed 
around  him.  standing  knife  in  hand  above  the 
half-skmned  carcass  of  the  stag,  and  felt  some- 
thing akin  to  fear  at  the  silence,  the  emptiness 
and  the  vastness  that  surrounded  him.     He  saw 
the  dusk  gathering  like  an  inflowing  tide  among 
the  black  spruces.      "  I  must  get  used   to  this 
sort  of  thing,-  he  muttered,  and  stooped  again 
to  his  task.    Now  he  worked  as  if  his  life  depended 
upon  the  flesh  and  hule  of  the  stag.     He  wanted 
to  have  his  fire  imming  strongly  and  his  sleeping- 
place   ready   b.  fore   dark.     At   last   he  got   the 
skm  clear,  cutting  it  free  from  the  carcass  at  the 
legs  and  the  neck.     He  severed  the  antle.s  from 
the  head  by  breaking  off  the  top  of  the  skull  with 
his  axe.     But  now  the  lower  rim  of  the  sun  was 
behind  the  distant  forest,  so,  waiting  only  to  hack 


*OTMGE5. 


■^'"im:^ 


68    COMKADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


H 


t 


off  one  hind-quarter,  he  loaded  himself  and  hur- 
ried back,  along  his  trail  a  distance  of  several 
hundreds  of  yards.  He  would  let  the  rest  of  the 
meat  take  its  chance  with  the  hungry  prowlers  of 
the  night. 

Dick  lost  no  time  about  settling  on  a  place 
to  make  camp.  Under  the  big  trees  and  beside 
a  thicket  of  young  spruce  he  dropped  his  load 
and  his  rifle.  With  his  axe  he  set  briskly  to  work 
to  get  together  enough  fire-wood  to  last  through 
the  night,  some  dry  and  some  green.  He  was 
fortunate  enough  to  find  some  small  birches  close 
at  hand  and  several  dead  spruces.  These  he 
had  sofjn  trimmed  and  cut  into  three-foot  lengths. 
Then,  using  one  of  his  long  snow-shoes  for  a  shovel, 
he  dug  a  trench  in  the  drifted  snow  against  the 
thicket.  He  dug  right  down  to  the  frozen  moss 
for  a  distance  of  about  ten  feet.  As  the  snow  was 
still  light  he  pressed  the  sides  and  ends  of  the 
trench  with  his  snow-shoe.  He  laid  a  little  roof 
of  spruce  branches  across  one  end  and  bedded  it 
with  the  same  material.  In  the  other  end  of  the 
trench  he  built  his  fire. 

By  the  time  Dick  had  accomplished  all  this 
night  had  settled  over  the  wilderness,  the  last 
glow   of  red  had  departed  and  the  stars  were 


'tT^m 


A  HAIR  -  RAISIxXG  NIGH  T      59 

glinting  frostily  high  above  the  black   .pires  of 
the  forest.    Dick  thmst  h>s  snow-shoes,    ail-first 
"ito  the  wall  of  the  trench,  removed  his  mitteni 
and  outer  coat,  laid  his  sleeping-bag.  rifl.  and  axe 
under  the  narrow  roof  and  arranged  his  s.mple 
cookmg.k.t  beside  the  fire.     Then  he  filled  the 
kettle  w,th  new  snow  and  put  it  to  melt  in  the 
edge  of  the  fire  and  cut  a  generous  slice  from  the 
haunch  of  venison.     Soon  a  fragrant  odour  stole 
up  and  away  into  the  gloomy  forest.    The  cheery 
heat  and  radiance  of  the  crackling  fire  filled  the 
long,  narrow  trench.    It  was  hard  to  believe  that 
millions  of  acres  of  gloom  and  frost  pressed  close 
up  to  that  little  fire  on  every  side. 

"This    is   r.J.H    onite   home-like."    remarked 
Dick,  turmng  t!,    .,..;.,..  steak  in  the  pan. 

Tired  from  h  -   ^o.;.  day's  work,  he   ^ou  r,. 
moved  his  moccasins  and  outer  stoc:  inr.  from 
his  feet  and  slipped  into  his  sleeping-bag.     Half 
the  mght  s  supply  of  wood  was  above  him.  on  the 
edge  of  the  trench,  and  the  rest  was  beside  his 
couch^    His  rifle  lay  at  his  right  hand,  with  four 
cartndges  in  the  magazine  and  one  in  the  breech. 
The   breath   of  the   fire   beat   along  the   white, 
glistening  walls  of  his  retreat  in  soothing,  comfort^ 
mg  u  aves ;  and  in  two  minutes  he  was  sound  asleep 


"'}; 


I 


m 


r   ,  ^< 


,,       .Jii' 

■jr. 


* 

ri 


li  ;f  I 


60     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

Dick  awoke  suddenly  and,  in  the  same  fraction 
of  a  second,  sat  bolt  upright.  The  sound  that 
had  brought  him  so  sharply  from  his  deep  slumber 
had  died  from  the  air,  but  was  still  ringing  in  his 
brain.  What  was  it?  What  could  it  have  been? 
The  echo  of  it  rang  in  his  ears,  high  and  weird. 
He  sat  very  still,  listening,  waiting  for  it  to  again 
break  the  silence  of  the  frosty  night.  His  right 
hand  was  on  the  grip  of  his  rifle  and  his  eyes 
stared  straight  ahead,  above  the  sunken  fire 
and  into  the  enveloping  shadows  of  the  forest. 
So  he  sat,  without  moving  a  muscle,  for  several 
minutes.  He  heard  the  low  fire  crackle  furtively 
and  a  tip  of  ash  fall  from  a  smouldering  stick 
onto  the  red  coals  beneath.  He  heard  the  sudden, 
clear  snapping  of  the  frost  in  the  great  trees  above 
and  around  him.  But  the  sound  that  had  awak- 
ened him  did  not  return  —  just  then.  He  changed 
his  position,  bending  far  forward  so  that  he 
could  look  upward  past  the  edge  of  the  roof  of 
brush.  He  could  see  nothing  but  the  glinting 
of  the  stars  beyond  the  black  masses  of  the 
spruces.  He  drew  himself  out  of  the  sleeping-bag 
and  placed  some  birch-bark  and  an  armfull  of 
wood  on  the  fire.  The  flames  leapt  upward,  cast- 
ing a  red  light  into  the  forest  beyond  the  edges 


A  HAIR-RAISING  NIGHT      61 

of  the  trench.  Dick  lit  a  roll  of  the  inflammable 
bark  at  the  fire  and  held  it  high  above  his  head 
so  that  it  threw  its  red  glow  far  around  among 
the  tree  trunks.  But  he  could  see  nothing  but 
snow  and  shadows  and  the  massive  pillars  of  the 
forest.  The  torch  burned  down  close  to  his  hand ; 
and  just  as  he  let  it  drop  the  noise  that  had  startled 
him  from  his  sleep  shrilled  again  on  the  air.  It 
was  an  indescribable  noise,  high  and  keen,  beastly 
and  yet  with  something  human  about  it.  It  was 
partly  a  cry,  partly  mad  laughter.  For  several 
seconds  it  rang  across  the  frosty  night,  and  then 
fell  silent. 

While  the  terrific  noise  lasted  Dick  stood  mo- 
tionless, gripped  by  a  nameless  terror.    Upon  the 
return  of  silence  he  stooped  and  snatched  up 
his  rifle,  kicked  the  fire  into  a  burst  of  flame  and 
faced  the  direction  from  which  the  sound  had 
come.     The  direction  was  that  of  the  carcass  of 
the  caribou.     He  trembled;   but  he  stood  firm, 
ready  to  meet  any  attack  —  an  attack  from  any- 
thing —  with  five  steel-napped  bullets.     It  was  a 
desperate   sort  of  courage   that   possessed   him, 
however,  for  there  had  been  something  unea^thl^^' 
unbelievable,  m  that  cry  from  the  outer  darkness.' 
He  told  himself  (but  failed  to  convince  himself), 


I 

|Vi    ■1 


At 


1^ 


62     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

that  it  was  the  voice  of  a  wolf,  a  fox,  a  lynx  or  a 
wild-cat.  On  his  arrival  in  the  country  he  had 
once  heard  the  cry  of  that  great  northern  water- 
bird,  the  loon.  That  had  been  hideous  enough; 
but  this  was  a  thousand  times  worse.  And  even 
if  the  sounds  had  been  the  same,  what  would  a 
loon  be  doing  out  on  the  frozen,  snow-sheeted 
barren?  He  had  heard  the  night-cries  of  foxes, 
wolves  and  the  two  big  varieties  of  cats  that  were 
native  to  the  wilderness;  but  this  was  like  none 
of  these. 

Dick  waited,  ready  for  he  knew  not  what,  for 
fully  fifteen  minutes;   but  nothing  came  and  the 
sound  was  not  again  repeated.     He  mended  the 
fire  and  paced  back  and  forth  between  it  and  his 
bed,  keeping  a  sharp  look-out  on  every  side.    Pres- 
ently,  from  the  same  direction  from  which  the 
cry  had  come,  he  heard  the  yelp  of  a  fox.    That 
commonplace  sound  gave  him  fresh  courage ;  but 
he  did  not  relish  the  thought  that  the  prowlers 
were  eating  that  good  meat  and  arguing  over  their 
meal.     He  fired  n  shot  into  the  darkness,  to  let 
them  know  that  the  rightful  owner  of  the  caribou 
was  not  far  away.     Silence  followed  the  sharp 
report  of  the  rifle. 

Dick  did  not  return  to  his  sleeping-bag,  but 


A  HAIR-RAISING  NIGHT      63 

spent  the  remainder  of  the  night  on  guard,  alert 
and  anxious,  fearing  that  at  any  moment  tliat 
terrible  sound  — half  cry  and  half  mad  laughter 
—  might  again  assail  his  ears.    At  the  first  hint 
of  dawn  he  drew  on  his  moccasins  and  outer  coat, 
scrambled  out  of  the  trench  and  sUpped  his  feet 
into  the  toe-loops  of  his  snow-shoes  and  started 
cautiously  for  the  edge  of  the  barren.    You  may 
be  sure  that  his  rifle  was  in  his  hand.    He  moved 
very  quietly,  hoping  to  catch  sight  of  something 
that  might  throw  some  light  on  the  cause  of  the 
hideous  sounds  that  had  robbed  him  of  his  rest. 
The  grey  light  sifted  faintly  between  the  tree- 
trunks  and  through  the  high,  massed  branches. 
When  he  sighted  the  carcass  at  last  he  saw  some- 
thing moving  near  it.  something  small  and  black 
against  the  grey  shimmer  of  the  snow.    He  knelt 
and  fired;   but  the  light  was  bad  and  the  little 
animal  —  whatever  it  was  —  darted  away.    With 
a  grunt  of  disgust  he  got  to  his  feet  again  and 
hurried  forward. 

As  he  glanced  down  at  the  carcass  of  the  stag 
an  exclamation  of  dismay  burst  from  his  lips. 
Much  of  the  flesh  was  gone  — and  he  could  see 
that  it  had  not  been  torn  away  by  the  fangs  of 
animals,  but  had  been  cut  with  a  sharp  blade!    A 


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64     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

human  being  had  been  at  work  about  the  frozen 
stag  in  the  night!    A  man  had  been  here,  in  sight 
of  the  fire,   had  taken  meat  and  gone  secretly 
away.    And  the  terrible  cry  he  had  heard  ?    Could 
a  human  have  made  that  hideous  sound?     The 
light  was  steadily   increasing,   and   Dick  stared 
around  him  and  far  out  across  the  desolate  barren, 
perplexed   and   shaken   with   apprehension.      In 
fact  he  was  so  shaken  that  several  minutes  passed 
before  he  thought  of  examining  the  snow  for  in- 
formation concerning  his  midnight  visitor.     Here 
was  something  written  plainly  enough,  stamped 
on  the  soft,  white  surface  in  large  type;   but  he 
could  not  read  it.     What  he  saw  was  unreal, 
unheard-of,  and  filled  him  with  fresh  apprehension 
and  a  vague  alarm  and  distrust  of  his  surround- 
ings.   Around  the  carcass,  and  leading  to  it  and 
away  from  it,  were  large,  oval  prints  in  the  snow. 
Dick  knelt  and  examined  one  of  them  closely. 

"  Of  course  it  was  a  man  —  a  man  of  some  sort," 
he  murmured,  "  so  these  must  be  the  marks  of 
some  kind  of  snow-shoe." 

But  if  snow-shoes  or  racquets  had  left  those 
prints  then  their  owner  was  undoubtedly  a  lunatic. 
The  impressions  were  almost  as  broad  as  they 
were  long  and  showed  no  signs  of  tails.    And  to 


A  HAIR-RAISING  NIGHT      65 

make  such  solid  marks  the  frames  must  have  been 
fiUed  with  bark  or  rounds  of  hide  instead  of  with 
the  customary  light  network  of  woven  thongs. 
And  who  but  a  man  of  imperfect  intelligence 
would  make  or  use  such  a  snow-shoe  as  this?  And 
who  but  a  raving  maniac  would  give  voice  to 
such  terrible  sounds  as  those  that  had  aroused  the 
young  trapper  from  his  heavy  sleep  and  filled  his 
heart  with  fear? 

Where  the  mysterious  stranger  had  not  cut, 
loxes  and  other  animals  had  gnawed  at  the  frozen 
flesh  of  the  caribou.    Dick  hacked  off  a  few  pounds 
to  ser^x  as  bait  for  his  traps  and  then  returned 
to  his  fire,  got  breakfast  and  prepared  to  move 
along.    He  did  not  rehsh  the  idea  of  the  man  with 
the  queer  snow-shoes.    He  felt  that  the  sooner  his 
work  was  done  and  he  was  safe  back  on  Two-Fox 
Pond  the  bett...      Much  good  fur  would  not  have 
tempted  him  to  spend  another  night  alone  beside 
that  haunted  barren.    So  he  packed  his  kit,  hung 
the  hide,  riesh  and  antlers  of  the  caribou  out  of 
the  reach  of  the  foxes,  and  set  out  to  finish  the 
inspection  of  the  traps.     He  travelled  fast,  anx- 
ious  to  be  home  before  night-fall.     He  found  a 
Ivnx  in  the  first  trap  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
barren.     The  next  two  were  empty;   but  in  the 


! 


'A'/H.-H'-iJI 


V 


66     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

last  he  found  something  to  think  about.     The 
trap  was  lying  as  he  and  Sober  Sam  had  left  it, 
baited  and  set;    but  in  looking  closely  at  the 
bait  he  saw  that  it  was  a  fragment  of  red  flesh 
—  the  flesh  of  a  hare,  perhaps.    Now  he  remem- 
bered very  well  that  this  particular  trap,  set  in 
a   low   spot  beside  a   frozen  stream,   had   been 
baited  with  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  two- 
pound  trout  that  Sam  had  caught  through  a  hole 
in  the  ice  for  this  very  purpose.    Here  was  some- 
thing to  worry  about,  and  no  mistake  —  some- 
thing considerably  more  serious  than  the  theft 
of  caribou  meat  and  the  hideous  cries  in  the  night. 
Here  was  a  thief  (unmistakable  signs  of  him,  at 
least),  who  was  not  above  robbing  another  man's 
traps  and  calmly  resetting  them  for  his  future 
profit!    This  oort  of  thing,  Dick  knew  weU,  was 
one   of  the   blackest   crimes   of  the   wilderness. 
Here  was  a  robber  more  cunning  and  more  dan- 
gerous than  the  wolverine.      He    felt  no  doubt 
that  it  was  the  same  oerson  who  had  helped  him- 
self to  the  choice  cuts  of  the  caribou. 

Dick  set  out  on  the  back  trail  with  indignation 
aglow  in  his  heart.  He  had  expected  to  find 
honesty  and  fair-play  in  the  wilderness;  and 
instead  he  had  found  the  most  brazen  robber  v. 


A  HAIR-RAISING  NIGHT      67 

Yes,  he  was  very  angry.  Also,  he  was  somewhat 
alarmed.  He  could  not  get  the  thought  of  those 
terrible  cries,  and  of  those  solid,  round  tracks  in 
the  snow  hke  the  foot-prints  of  some  prehistoric 
monster,  out  of  his  mind. 

Dick  reached  his  camping-place  of  the  night 
before  with  the  skin  of  the  lynx  hanging  from  his 
belt.     It  was  still  early -not  much  past  nine 
o'clock.     He  made  a  pack  of  the  hide,  antlers 
and  flesh  of  the  stag,   fastened  it  high  on  his 
shoulders  and  hastened  onward.    He  followed  his 
old  trail.    He  had  not  gone  far  before  he  saw  the 
tracks  of  the  midnight  robber  across  his  old  trail 
at  right-angles.     And  the  tracks  were  freiJi  — 
fresher  than  his  own  of  the  previous  evening. 
Beyond   a   doubt   the   mysterious   stranger  had 
crossed   that   way   this   very   morning!     For   a 
moment    he    contemplated    the    advisability    of 
following  those  strange  tracks  and  bringing  the 
thief   to    immediate   account.      But    on    second 
thoughts  he  decided  that  the  safest  thing  to  do 
was  to  keep  to  his  own  trail  —  for  the  present. 
He  drew  his  rifle  from  its  blanket  case,  however, 
and  kept  a  sharp  look-out  on  all  sides  as  he 
tramped  along.     As  he  advanced  he  examined 
every  trap  again  and  skinned  such  animals  as 


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68    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


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he  had  hving  out  of  harm's  way  the  day  before. 
Under  the  spur  of  anxiety,  he  deprived  the 
frozen  bodies  of  their  warm  pelts  at  a  rate  of 
speed  that  even  Sober  Sam  would  not  have  been 
ashamed  of.  Once  more,  at  a  point  about  five 
miles  from  Two- Fox  Pond,  the  trail  of  the  stranger 
crossed  his. 

When  Dick  came  in  sight  of  the  sapling  in  the 
top  of  which  he  had  hung  the  body  of  the  first 
mink,  he  saw  something  that  caused  him  to 
forget  the  human  thief  for  a  few  minutes.  High 
up  in  the  leafless  sapling,  and  within  a  foot  of 
the  frozen  mink,  was  a  small,  bear-like  beast 
doing  its  best  to  set  its  claws  in  the  prize  that 
swayed  about  so  temptingly  just  out  of  reach. 
It  was  so  intent  on  this  business  that  it  did  not 
tear  the  trapper. 

"  The  wolverine,"  murmured  Dick,  knowing 
the  glutton  by  Sober  Sam's  description.-  of  it. 
"  The  rascal  that  ate  the  fox."  He  steadied 
himself  by  leaning  his  shoulder  against  a  tree, 
for  the  pack  was  heavy  and  he  was  tired,  took 
unhurried  aim  and  fired.  The  wolverine's  hind 
legs  lost  their  hold  on  the  smooth  bark  of  the 
sapling.  For  a  few  seconds  he  hung  aloft  by  his 
fore-paws,  then  dropped  lifeless  into  the   .now. 


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CHAPTER   VI 

SOBER    SAM    RESPECTS    THE    SPIRIT    OP    THE    DEAD 
HALF  -  BREED.        THE    WOLVES 

Dick  reached  Two-Fox  Pond  without  further 
adventure,  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  found  the 
shack    empty.      His    companion    was    away    on 
one  of  the  other  hnes  of  traps.     So  Dick  cooked 
himself  a  dinner  of  pancakes  and  pork,  ate  it  in 
comfort  beside  the  hearth  (with  an  apprehensive 
eye  on  the  window,   however,   for  dread  of  the 
bemg  with  the  queer  racquets  was  still  with  him) 
and  afterwards,  though  he  felt  sleepy,  set  to  work 
scraping  and  stretching  the  new  skins.    He  found 
a  good  deal  of  satisfaction  in  this  work,  for  every 
one  of  the  pelts  was  excellent  of  its  kind. 

Sober  Sam  appeared  at  the  shack  shortly  after 
sunset.  He  smiled  pleasantly  at  Dick,  stood  his 
snow-shoes  in  a  comer  away  from  the  fire,  dropped 
a  few  pelts  on  the  floor  and  brushed  his  hand 
across  his  face.  He  was  breathing  quickly.  Dick 
lit  the  lantern. 


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70     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


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"  What  luck,  Sam?  "  he  asked,  glancing  ctiri- 
ously  at  his  companion. 

"  Pretty  good,"  replied  Sam.  "  Three  mink, 
one  fox,  two  ermine,  one  b'ar.  Yes,  dat  pretty 
good  luck,  a'right.     What  you  get,  Dick?  " 

Dick  showed  the  pelts  he  had  brought  in  and 
told  of  the  shooting  of  the  caribou  and  the  wol- 
verine. But  he  did  not  tell  his  whole  story  then, 
for  he  felt  that  Sam  also  was  withholding  some- 
thing. He  stooped  and  examined  the  pelts  that 
lay  on  the  floor.  "  Where  is  the  bear  skin?  " 
he  asked,  for  it  was  not  with  the  others. 

"  Dunno,"  replied  Sam.  "  B'ar,  he  was  in  de 
dead-fall  a'right ;  but  he  hadn't  no  skin  on  him. 
What  you  think,  Dick?  You  think,  maybe  de 
b'ar  in  dis  country  don't  grow  no  overcoats?  " 

"  So  there  has  been  a  thief  on  your  line,"  re- 
marked Dick. 

Sam  nodded.  "  Two-legged  t'ief,  him.  Wol- 
verine, he  don't  skin  b'ar." 

The  Dick  told  of  the  knife-cuts  in  the  carcass  of 
the  caribou,  of  the  terrible  cries  in  the  night  and 
of  the  rebaited  trap.  Also,  he  told  of  the  queer 
snow-shoe  tracks.  Sober  Sam,  who  by  this  time 
had  filled  and  lighted  his  pipe,  smoked  in  silence 
throughout  the   story.     He   looked   very  grave 


SAM  RESPECTS  THE  DEAD     71 

and  shook   his    head    frequently.     At    last  he 
spoke. 

"  Pierre  Lacross,  he  make  queer  snow-shoe 
like  dat,  once.  He  too  a'mighty  lazy  to  make 
good  racquet.     Dat  look  like  Pierre,  a'right." 

"  Be  serious!  "  cried  Dick.  "  For  this  is  a 
serious  matter.  We  can  not  afford  to  have  our 
traps  robbed." 

"  Dat  right,"  said  Sam.  "  Bad  bigness  to  have 
fur  stole  hke  dat.  Dat  b'ar  skin  now,  he  worth 
ten  dollar  maybe.  Me  serious  a'right,  Dick. 
Yes,  you  bet!" 

"  Then  what  had  we  better  do?  "  asked  Dick. 
"  There  is  a  thief  in  this  country  who  is  robbing 
our  traps  and  trying  to  frighten  us  at  the  same 
time.  That  is  what  he  made  those  frightful 
noises  for.  He  frightened  me  that  time,  I  admit ; 
but  he  had  better  not  try  it  again  or  he  will  find 
a  few  bullets  whistling  'round  his  ears." 

The  Indian  gazed  at  him  with  inscrutable  eyes. 
"  Bullets  no  good  —  dis  time,  anyhow.  Guess  we 
better  shift  our  country,  Dick,  'way  up  nort' 
a  few  days'  journey.  Yes,  we  better  go  'way  from 
dis  part  o'  the  country,  you  bet." 

Dick  stared  at  his  dusky  companion  with  anger 
and  amazement  in  his  face.    "  What  the  devil  are 


.dli. 


72     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

you  talking  abo  i '  "  he  cried.  "  R\m  away  from 
a  thief!  But  perhaps  you  are  joking,  Sam?  I 
don't  see  the  joke,  but  you  may.  But  if  you  are, 
please  stop  it  and  talk  sense.  I  did  not  come  to 
this  country  for  the  express  purpose  of  acting  the 
fool.    I  could  have  done  that  at  home." 

"  Dat  no  joke,"  replied  Sober  Sam,  calmly. 
"  Dat  honest-injun-gospel-truth  me  tellin'  you. 
Pierre  Lacross,  he  shift  his  country,  so  we  better 
shift  ours  too." 

"  What  has  this  to  do  with  Pierre  Lacross?  *' 
asked  Dick,  in  fretful  wonder.  "  You  told  me 
he  was  dead.  You  told  me  that  he  was  shot  by 
Running  Thunder." 

Sober  Sam  nodded.  "  Yes,  dat  right.  But 
I  tell  you  how  he  still  take  fur,  down  by  Push-and- 
be-damn.  Now  he  move  his  country,  I  guess.  He 
Uke  dis  country  better,  maybe." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  believe  the 
thief  who  is  meddling  with  our  traps  is  Lacross's 
ghost?  "  asked  Dick  incredulously. 

"  Pierre's  spirit,  yes.  He  trap  just  the  same  as 
before  —  dat  spirit." 

At  this  Dick  fairly  lost  his  temper.  "  What 
would  a  spirit  want  with  caribou  meat?"  he 
jeered.     "  What  does  a  ghost  want  with  snow- 


''Ai 


SAM  RESPECTS  THE  DEAD    73 

shoes?  — and  even  if  it  was  fool  enough  to  wear 
them  it  would  not  sink  six  inches  into  the  snow 
at  every  step.     Rot!    I  thought   you  had  some 
sense.     I  tell  you,   Sam,   that  spirit  weighs  as 
much  as  I  do.    But  if  you  are  afraid  of  it  you  can 
get  out  —  you  can  go  north  just  as  soon  as  you 
want  to  — but  you'll  go  alone,  by  thunder!    I'd 
rather  trap  alone  than  with  a  man  who  would 
want  me  to  shift  my  outfit  every  time  something 
unusual  happened.     Here   I   stay,    Sober   Sam! 
It  will  take  more  than  one  half-breed,  dead  or 
alive,   to  frighten    me    out    of   this   good    trap- 
ping    country.       Bat    you     can    go     wherever 
you  want  to  —  straight  to  the  devil,   for  aU  I 
care!" 

"  You  heap  tam  brave    young   man,    Dick," 
said  the  other,  calmly. 

"  I  am  not  a  confounded  coward,  anyway," 
retorted  Dick. 

Sober  Sam  shook  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe. 
"  You  think  dat  thief  a  common  man.  Maybe 
you  right,  Dick.  He  steal  just  like  Pierre,  an' 
he  got  same  fool  kind  o'  snow-.,hoe.  Sober  Sam, 
he  no  coward,  too.  You  talk  too  quick  — an' 
not  so  a'mighty  polite  as  Billy  Blunt  told  me 
neither." 


f  I 


74    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


i.^ 


"  Polite? "  returned  Dick,  smiling  slightly. 
"  Do  you  expect  me  to  be  polite  under  all  cir- 
cumstances? We  are  partners  in  the  trapping 
business,  Sam;  and  when  my  partner  talks  like 
a  fool  and  wants  to  act  like  one  I  mean  to  tell  him 
what  I  think  of  him,  every  time,  whether  he 
thinks  it  polite  or  not.  And  you  are  welcome 
to  do  the  same  by  me,  Sam." 

They  spent  ine  evening  working  over  the  new 
skins  and  discussing  the  thief.  Sam  was  not 
convinced  that  it  was  other  than  the  spirit  of  the 
dead  half-breed;  but  he  was  willing  to  stand  by 
Dick  and  defy  it.  As  he  had  said,  he  was  no  cow- 
ard; but  he  confessed  that  he  would  not  know 
exactly  how  to  act  should  he  come  face  to  face 
with  the  mysterious  robber  of  the  traps.  He 
remembered  how  he  had  acted  when  he  had  seen 
it  down  in  Running  Thunder's  des«3rted  country 
(he  believed  it  to  be  the  same  thing),  the  winter 
after  Rtmning  Thunder  and  his  family  had  been 
driven  away.  What  he  had  done  on  that  mem- 
orable occasion  was  simply  to  turn  aroimd  in  his 
tracks  and  run  until  legs  and  wind  gave  out.  He 
had  a  grave  suspicion  that  he  might  behave  in 
the  same  manner  again  under  the  same  circum- 
stances.   But  if  he  were  only  sure  that  the  thief 


:  sm'.-'mYaimM;gimm 


SAM  RESPECTS  THE  DEAD    75 


was  a  man  and  not  a  spirit  he  would  go  out  on  its 
trail  and  hunt  it  to  its  retreat  without  a  twinge 
of  fear. 

"  What  you  do,  Dick,  when  j'oa  see  him?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Try  to  get  hold  of  him."  replied  Dick,  simply, 
"  If  he  shows  fight  I'll  fight  too;  and  if  he  runs, 
and  seems  to  be  able  to  outrun  me,  then  I'll 
open  fire  on  him." 

Sober  Sam  was  deeply  impressed  by  his  yoimg 
companion's  fearless  attitude. 

Snow  began  to  fall  during  the  night  and  con- 
tinued *o  drift  down,  out  of  a  low,  grey  sky,  all 
day.  The  trappers  kept  to  the  shack.  They 
had  plenty  of  work  to  do,  for  the  skins  required 
attention,  socks  and  over-stockings  needed  darn- 
ing and  Sam  was  anxious  to  commence  making  two 
new  pairs  of  r^now-shoes.  The  wood  for  the  frames 
was  already  seasoned  and  bent,  having  been 
gathered  and  whittled  into  shape  the  year  before. 
Now  the  caribou  hide  had  to  be  cut  into  strips 
of  varying  widths  and  prepared  for  weavir^ 
across  the  frames. 

The  snow  ceased  to  fall  about  sun-down;  and 
at  an  early  hour  of  the  following  morning  the 
tr»pp«r»  <^t  out  together  on  the  westward  line  o£ 


I 


PI 


m 


76     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

traps.    The  new-fallen  snow,  not  yet  packed  down 
by  the  wind,  made  very  heavy  "  going."     The 
racquets  sank  fully  eight  inches  at  every  step 
and  came  up  each  time  with  a  freight  of  snow. 
Sober  Sam  took  the  lead  for  the  first  mile  and 
Dick  for  the  second;         '  thus  they  continued 
to  change  positions  th     .ghout  the  journey,  each 
doing  his  share  of  "breaking  trail."     The  sun 
was  up  by  the  time  they  reached  the  first  trap. 
It  was  empty,  but  had  not  been  tampered  with. 
Between  the  shack  and  the  edge  of  the  barren 
they  found  only  one  prize  —  a  patch-fox.     Now 
patch-foxes,  like  black  and  grey  foxes,  are  freaks; 
but,   unlike  the  black  and   the   grey,   they  are 
not  valuable  freaks.      The  skin  of  a  well-marked 
"  patch  "  may  be  worth  from  two  to  three  times 
that  of  an  ordinary  red;    whereas  the  pelts  of 
black  and  grey  run  from  ten  to  eighty  pounds 
in  value,  the  black  being  the  more  valuable  of 
the  two.    But  the  strange  part  of  it  is  that  these 
are  not  separate  varieties  of  fox.    The  common, 
reddish  yellow  animal  wears  the  true  family  coat 
—  the  blacks,  greys  and  patches  are  but  freaks. 
The  pelt  valued  at  three  dollars  and  that  valued 
at  four  hundred  dollars  may  come  from  animals 
that  were  cubbed  in  the  same  den.    Needless  to 


^,ir'r.'  -mfm^^  <v/'^^-^--^~^^r^^ 


SAM  RESPECTS  THE  DEAD    77 


say  (for  the  values  tell  the  story),  the  black  and 
grey  freaks  do  not  often  "  happen." 

"  Dat  a'mighty  big  pity,"  said  Sober  Sam,  as 
he  swiftly  skinned  the  fox.  "  Dis  pelt  comes 
pretty  near  big  money.  Yes,  you  bet!  It  could 
just  as  easy  bin  all  black,  or  all  grey,  as  a  little 
o'  both  an'  some  red  chucked  in.  Dam  shame, 
yes." 

At  the  edge  of  the  .barren  they  found  that  other 
visitors  had  been  ahead  of  them.  Eager  paws 
had  dug  the  deep,  light  snow  away  from  the 
carcass  of  the  caribou.  In  fact,  there  was  not 
much  of  it  left  except  the  larger  bones  and  the 
hoofs.  Sam,  who  had  brought  one  of  the  traps 
along  with  him  from  further  up  the  line,  gazed 
at  the  gnawed  remains  of  the  stag  and  nodded 
his  round  head. 

"  Good  place,  yes,"  he  said.  "  Plenty  fox  here, 
you  bet."  He  set  the  trap  and,  without  baiting 
it,  placed  it  close  to  the  wreck  of  the  carcass  and 
covered  it  lightly  with  snow. 

They  were  half-way  across  the  barren  when 
Sober  Sam,  who  was  in  the  lead,  halted  and 
pointed  off  to  the  left.  "Look!  "  he  whispered. 
"  Young  stag  in  a'mighty  hurry." 

Dick  looked,  shading  his  eyes  from  the  glare  of 


m^i^mi^:^ri^iM'^ 


78     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


the  sun  —  for  the  sun  was  shining  brightly  though 
the  air  was  bitterly  cold.  He  saw  a  caribou 
plunging  along,  its  head  thrown  far  back  and  the 
snow  rising  about  it  in  glittering  clouds.  It  was 
in  a  hurry,  and  no  mistake.  He  turned  inquir- 
ingly to  his  companion. 

"  Wolves,  I  guess,"  remark'  d  the  Indian. 

The  stag  plunged  onward,  travelling  at  a  good 
pace  in  spite  of  the  depth  of  the  snow,  and  soon 
won  to  the  edge  of  the  timber  at  a  point  about 
half  a  mile  in  front  and  to  the  left  of  where  the 
trappers  stood.  Then  the  wolves  came  into  sight, 
leaping  and  sinking  and  leaping  again  on  the 
deep  trail  of  the  caribou.  There  were  four  *  "■  them. 
Dick  began  to  untie  the  blar.^et  case  of  his 
rifle. 

Sober  Sam  noticed  the  action.  "  You  wait," 
he  said.  "  We  strike  dat  trail  too  an'  maybe 
both  get  good  shot  at  dem  timber  wolves.  You 
no  hit  um  now.  jumpin'  like  dat." 

Dick  saw  that  his  companion  was  right.  They 
turned  half-left  and  reached  the  trail  in  a  few 
minutes  just  where  it  entered  the  woods  from 
the  pen  barren.  They  followed  it  at  the  best 
pace  they  could  manage;  but  running  was  out 
of  the  question.    It  was  a  plain  trail  but  a  hard 


m^wmet^ 


SAM  RESPECTS  THE  DEAD     79 


one  to  travel.  In  some  places  their  snow-shoes 
caught  in  the  tops  of  buried  bushes.  Once  Dick's 
right  shoe  >umed  sideways  under  him  and  sent 
him  sprawling.  Sober  Sam  had  to  turn  and  drag 
him  to  his  feet  again.  They  went  up  hill  and 
down  dale,  across  hidden  streams  and  beneath 
wide,  snow-weighted  branches  that  spilled  their 
loads  upon  the  trappers'  heads.  The  Indian 
did  not  look  to  be  travelling  very  fast,  but  he  was 
soon  far  ahead  of  poor  Dick.  He  halted  at  the 
base  of  a  small  himimock  and  waited  for  Dick  to 
come  up  with  him. 

"  You  step  too  high,"  he  said,  as  the  other 
reached  him,  puffing  heavily.  "  You  chuck 
yer  feet  too  high.  An'  you  go  hop-jump  over 
things  an'  bang-bump  into  things.  Dat  not  de 
way!  But  we  get  in  sight  pretty  soon,  I  guess. 
Wolves  kill  pretty  soon  —  in  three-four  mile, 
maybe  —  an'  den  v  o  get  good  shot." 

Dick  nodded  (he  had  no  wind  to  spare  for  le- 
marks),  and  on  they  went.  He  took  Sam's  hint 
as  to  the  high  action  of  the  legs  and  the  bumping 
into  things  and  travelled  as  nearly  as  he  cotdd 
after  che  methods  of  the  red  man,  avoiding  ob- 
stacles rather  than  overcoming  them  and  not 
lifting  his  feet  an  inch  higher  than  was  abso- 


i 


m 


I 


l\ 


80    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

lutely  necessary.  In  this  way  he  managed  to 
keep  within  a  few  yards  of  his  companion.  The 
stag  and  the  wolves  led  them  through  some  des- 
perately rough  country,  on  a  course  that  bore 
steadily  to  the  nor'east.  Suddenly  the  Indian 
halted  and  held  up  his  left  hand.  They  were 
behind  a  dense  thicket  on  the  crest  of  a  small 
knoll.  The  deep  trail  of  the  caribou  led  straight 
through  the  tangled  barrier  of  young  spruces  and 
firs.  A  few  slight  sounds  —  a  snort  and  a  low 
snarl  —  reached  the  ears  of  the  trappers.  Sober 
Sam  nodded  to  Dick  and  cleared  his  old  Snider 
from  its  case.  Dick  got  his  Winchester  ready 
and  together  they  moved  cautiously  forward. 
When  they  got  through  the  thicket  they  had  a 
cle-r  view  down  the  slope  of  the  hill  to  the  little 
valley  at  the  bottom.  All  the  way  down  th-  slope 
the  deep  trail  was  marked  with  blood;  and  in 
the  little  valley  the  big,  tawny  wolves  tore  at  the 
lifeless  body  of  the  caribou. 

The  wolves  were  as  large  as  collies,  and  long- 
jawed  and  long-haired.  Their  coats  varied  from 
reddish  brown  in  one  to  red  and  grey  in  another. 
One  was  very  light  and  another  showed  a  good 
deal  of  black  about  the  ruff  and  brush.  Their  heads 
were   very  broad   above  the  eyes.     They  were 


'r^-:-'m-j.-z 


wvrj* 


SAM  RESPFCTS  THE  DEAD  Si- 
much  larger  and  finer  beasts  than  Dick  had  im- 
agined wolves  to  be. 

Each  selected  his  victim  and  the  two  rifles 
spoke  at  the  same  momc  -.  The  beast  with  the 
black  markings  and  a  sp  n*iid  big  fellow  with  an 
even  red-brown  coat  sprang  into  the  air  and  '«.ii. 
kicking,  in  the  snow.  For  a  second  or  two  .  •  -^ 
kicked  and  then  lay  still.  The  others  had  van- 
ished iixe  shadows  on  the  very  instant  of  the  firing. 

By  the  time  the  two  wolves  were  deprived 
cf  their  fine  pelts  it  was  a  full  hour  past  noon. 
Dick  and  Sam  were  hungry,  for  they  had  break- 
fasted before  six  and  had  travelled  about  seven- 
teen miles  since  then.  And  they  had  not  trav- 
elled by  an  easy  road.  So  they  made  a  fire, 
boiled  their  kettle  and  ate  bi  i  and  cold  pork. 
Neither  felt  any  appetite  to  try  a  slice  of  the  wolf- 
killed  caribou.  They  su.  on  the  wolf  skins,  close 
to  the  fire;  ai. '  ::ftcr  thj  meal -was  finished  Sam 
filled  his  blackened  pipe. 


ii 


CHAPTER   VII 


If 

M 


I 


I     1': ! 


I 
I 


ill 


1      ! 

t      < 


A  WRENCHED  ANKLE.      SOBER  SAM's   REMARKABLE 

DISCOVERY 

Sober  Sam  smoked  his  pipe  for  about  twenty 
minutes,  silent,  staring  at  the  little  fire  in  the 
snow.  He  sat  cross-legged  on  one  of  the  fresh 
wolf  skins,  and  suggested  to  Dick  a  good-natured 
heathen  idol  carved  out  of  ancient  and  unpolished 
mahogany.  The  cold  air  was  without  a  breath 
of  wind,  and  the  thin,  azure  finger  of  smoke  from 
the  dying  fire  arose  as  straight  as  a  wand,  un- 
broken until  it  faded  in  the  upper  sunshine.  Two 
big,  heavy-headed  jays  came  from  somewhere 
in  the  depths  of  the  woods,  attracted  by  the  sight 
or  scent  of  the  smoke.  Screaming  discordantly, 
hopping  from  branch  to  branch  and  making 
short,  awkward  flights  from  tree  to  tree,  they 
drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  fire  and  the  quiet 
woodsmen.  At  last  they  descended  within  a  yard 
of  Dick  and  each  snatched  and  gulped  a  frag- 
ment of  discarded  pork  fat.     Dick  tossed  them 

82 


A  WRENCHED  ANKLE 


83 


some  more  scraps,  which  they  accepted  fearlessly 
and  greedily. 

"  They  are  wonderfully  tame,"  remarked  Dick. 
"  One  would  think  that  they  are  accustomed 
to  human  ^^ociety." 

Sober  Sam  glanced  up  and  nodded  his  head. 
"  Dat  right,"  he  said.  "  Dem  whiskey-jacks 
a'mighty  friendly  birds.  You  go  anywhere,  I 
guess,  clean  up  to  Hudson  Bay,  maybe,  an'  light 
fire,  an'  pretty  soon  one-two-t'ree  whiskey-jack 
come  hoppin'  an'  hollerin'  round.  An  a'mighty 
good  reason,  too,  you  bet." 

"And  what's  the  reason?"  asked  Dick,  de- 
lighted at  having  stirred  the  old  man  from  his 
reverie. 

"  Dem  whiskey-jacks  all  got  de  spirits  of  trapper 
in  him,"  said  Sam.  "  Not  injun  trapper,  but 
'breed,  maybe,  or  Scotch,  or  French,  or  EngUsh. 
Back  in  Quebec  plenty  got  spirit  of  lumberman  in 
him.  Spirit  of  good  injun  trapper  don't  get 
into  bird  —  it  go  smack  otf  to  Happy  Himting- 
Groimd,  west  of  de  Crimson  Wigwam.  So  dem 
whiskey-jacks  feel  a'mighty  good  when  dey  sniff 
smell  of  fire  an'  fried  bacum.  Yes,  you  bet !  Long 
time,  maybe,  dey  bin  eatin'  nothin'  but  bird- 
food  —  an'  dat   all-fired   uncomforble   grub    for 


84     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


'<: 


spirit  of  trapper.  So  when  dey  see  fire  dey  come 
a'mighty  quick  an'  hang  round  long  time,  gulpin' 
an'  hstenin'.  Dey  listen  now,  you  bet.  See  dat 
ol'  feller  wink  um  eye  at  me." 

Dick  laughed  and  dropped  several  more  scraps 
of  pork  on  the  snow.  "  And  what  do  you  think, 
Sam?  Are  these  chaps  possessed  of  the  spirits 
of  half-breed,  French,  Scotch  or  English  trap- 
pers? " 

"  I  guess  dat  feller  dat  hop  up  into  tree  with 
biggest  lump  of  pork,  him  Scotch  trapper,  Dick; 
an'  dat  feller  tryin'  to  poke  him  Ik 'ad  into  your 
pocket,  him  got  English  spirit." 

Dick  laughed  heartily.  "  That's  one  on  me, 
Sam,  for  I'm  both  Scotch  and  English." 

"  Dat  two  on  you,  den,"  replied  the  Indian, 
grinning  broadly.  Then  he  got  to  his  feet,  made 
up  his  pack  and  replaced  his  snow-shoes.  "  Best 
move  along,"  he  said.  "  Can't  talk  an'  make  joke 
all  day,  Dick." 

They  were  soon  on  the  march  again,  with  the 
wolf  skins  and  some  of  the  flesh  of  the  caribou 
added  to  their  packs.  They  meant  to  use  the 
flesh  as  bait  for  the  traps.  Sober  Sam  led  the 
way,  heading  in  the  direction  of  the  line  of  traps 
from  which  the  chase  of  the  wolves  and  caribou 


A  WRENCHED  ANKLE 


85 


had  drawn  them.  Sam  did  not  require  the  help 
of  a  compass  to  find  his  bearings.  A  glance  at 
the  sky,  and  a  sweeping  survey  of  the  woods  and 
hills,  were  enongh  for  him.  They  moved  forward 
at  a  brisk  pace,  in  spite  of  their  previous  exertions 
and  the  new,  unpacked  snow.  It  was  rough 
cotmtry  —  a  region  of  sharp  hills,  narrow  valleys 
and  tangled  thickets  —  through  which  their  course 
led  them;  and  before  they  reached  their  line  of 
traps  Dick,  while  jumping  down  a  steep,  snow- 
pillowed  slope,  tripped  in  the  tops  of  some  hidden 
brush.  He  was  thrown  forward  heavily  and  buried 
to  his  wais^  in  the  drift,  head-downward ;  but  one 
of  his  racquets  was  twisted  sharply  and  held  tight 
by  the  brush.  As  the  strain  came  on  his  ankle  he 
uttered  a  yelp  of  pain.  Then  he  floundered  and 
kicked  in  the  powdery  snow,  and  so  made  matters 
much  worse.  The  snow  smothered  him  and  the 
pain  in  his  imprisoned,  twisted  ankle  was  like 
a  hot  knife-blade  in  the  joint. 

Sober  Sam  dropped  his  pack  at  Dick's  cry, 
turned  and  sprang  to  his  assistance.  First  of 
all  he  lifted  his  head  and  shoulders  to  the  surface, 
and  then  he  leaned  back  and  cut  the  thong  of  the 
twisted  racquet  and  so  released  the  injured  foot. 
Dick  was  breathless  and  pale.    Sam,  who  was  as 


1  }\ 


86    COMHADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


li 


strong  as  a  little  horse,  lifted  him  tenderly  down 
to  a  level  spot  a  few  yards  distant.  He  gathered 
bark  and  dry  branches  and  soon  had  a  fire  blaz- 
ing. Close  to  this  he  placed  the  sufferer,  on  a 
couch  of  fir  boughs,  and  with  deft  fingers  and 
ready  knife  he  removed  the  moccasin  and  woollen 
stockings  from  the  throbbing  foot.  He  found 
the  ankle  hot  and  swollen. 

"  You  done  um,  Dick!  "  he  muttered.  "  You 
lay  up  one-two  day,  I  guess.  Dat  dam  pity, 
too." 

"Oh!  It's  just  a  twist,"  returned  Dick,  through 
clenched  te^-ch.  "  It  will  be  right  in  an  hotu  or 
so.    Just  a  bit  of  a  strain,  I  think." 

Sober  Sam  made  an  examination  of  the  joint 
which  brought  drops  of  moisture  out  on  Dick's 
brow.  "  Dat  a'right,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  Nothin' 
broke,  I  guess.  Now  me  fix  um,  Dick.  Me 
a'mighty  good  doctor." 

He  melted  snow  at  the  fire  and  wet  several 
handsfuU  of  soft  moss  which  he  had  collected 
from  a  tree  near-by.  This  he  bound  snugly 
around  the  ankle,  using  strips  of  flannel  from  the 
lining  of  his  coat  for  bandages.  Over  this  bulky 
dressing  he  drew  the  largest  of  the  woollen  stock- 
ings. 


^f 


A  WRENCHED  ANKLE 


87 


"  Hang  it  all!  "  exclaimed  Dick.  "  This  is 
beastly  hard  luck!  " 

"  Not  luck  so  much  as  you  jump  too  dam  care- 
less," returned  the  other,  sorrowfully.  "  You 
lam  to  do  him  bettei  next  time,  maybe.  You  fall 
down  hard  like  dat  in  summer-time,  an'  hit  r  -k 
'stead  of  snow,  an'  you  break  your  dam  neck,  I 
guess.  But  dat  a'right,  Dick.  Plenty  u.jan  I 
know  jes'  much  big  fool  as  you." 

"  To  hear  you  jaw  "  said  Dick,  smiling  in  spite 
of  the  pain  in  his  ankle,  "  one  would  think  I'd 
done  the  trick  on  purpose.  But  what  are  you 
up  to  now,  Sam?  " 

"  Make  camp  an'  get  heap  of  w^ood,"  replied  the 
other.  "  Den  light  out  for  shack  an'  get  grub 
an'  lin'ment.  No  good  to  move  you  for  one-two 
day." 

Dick  did  not  relish  the  prospect  of  the  "  one- 
two  "  days  of  helplessness  so  casually  mentioned 
by  his  companion.  He  believed  "  one -two  "  days 
to  be  a  very  vague  period  of  time.  Now  in  a 
comfortable  bed,  or  in  an  easy-chair  by  a  cheery 
health,  with  plenty  of  books  to  read,  the  thing 
might  not  be  so  bad ;  but  in  the  heart  of  the  winter 
wilderness,  alone  most  of  the  time  (for  traps  must 
be  attended  to),  with  a  hole  in  the  snow  for  bed 


!  i* 


•1 


i*. 

it? 


1' '''' 

Ma*  f" 

'I  )* 


? 


I 


88     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

and  the  frozen  sky  and  crowding  spruces  for 
book,  it  promised  to  be  dull.  And  a  still  more  un- 
pleasant thought  came  to  him.  Suppose  the 
Thing.  vvhate\er  it  was,  that  cried  so  terrifically 
in  the  night,  should  find  him  when  he  was  alone 
and  helpk  s  on  his  back? 

Sober  Sam  worked  quickly  and  soon  had  Dick 
propped  comfortably  on  a  couch  of  fir  boughs, 
deep  and  springy,  with  a  heap  of  wood  close  at 
hand  to  keep  the  fire  supplied  for  many  hours. 
Beside  the  stack  of  fuel  he  placed  Dick's  rifle. 
Close  to  the  fire  he  set  the  kettle  and  frying-pan; 
and,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  placed  beside 
them  the  flesh  that  had  been  i-.tended  for  bait. 
He  planned,  of  course,  to  be  back  in  a  few  hours 
with  plenty  of  food;    but,  having  spent  a  life- 
time in  the  wilderness  he  was  not  such  a  fool  as 
to  be  too  sure  of  anything. 

Three  hours  dragged  slowly  away,  bringing 
nothing  to  disturb  or  entertain  Dick  save  two 
whiskey-jacks.  Dick  wondered  if  these  were  the 
same  couple  of  trappers  that  had  visited  them  a 
few  miles  away.  They  attacked  his  caribou  meat 
with  the  energy  and  greed  of  those  great  nations 
to  which  Sam  had  assigned  the  other  birds,  and 
he  was  forced  to  shy  sticks  at  them  to  keep  them 


t;. 


A  WRENCHED  ANKLE 


89 


away.  Another  hour  passed  and  twilight,  red 
and  level  lut  of  the  west,  began  to  creep  around 
him.  A  hare,  white  as  the  snow,  fled  across  the 
little  clearing.  Three  more  whiskey- jacks  joined 
the  first  coiiple.  A  red  fox  appeared,  for  a  second, 
at  the  edge  of  the  bush,  on  the  trail  of  the  hare, 
and  vanished  as  silently  and  swiftly  as  the  wink- 
ing of  an  eye.  Darkness  flooded  the  wilderness 
and  the  cold  btars  glinted  above  the  spires  of 
spruce  and  fir  and  the  strong,  black  towers  of  the 
pines.  An  owl  passed  close  overhead,  like  a  white 
shadow,  noiseless  as  smoke. 

Dick  fed  the  fire  with  a  generous  hand,  driving 
back  the  shadows  with  the  red  and  yellow  glow 
of  it.  Unwelcome  memcnes  of  that  other  night 
that  he  had  spent  in  the  snow,  when  those 
frightful,  indescribable  cries  had  chilled  his  blood, 
came  to  him  with  daunting  vividness.  He  drew 
his  rifle  to  his  knees  and  snapped  a  shell  into  the 
breech. 

"  I  hope  that  night  didn't  make  a  coward  of 
me,"  he  muttered. 

Suddenly  he  became  conscious  of  two  yellow- 
green  sparks,  motionless  and  low  down,  shining 
weirdly  from  the  black  shadows  beyond  the  circle 
of  firelight.     The  discovery  gave  him  a  shock, 


It  !■ 


90     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

brief  but  disquieting.  Then  he  realized,  by  their 
proximity  to  the  snow,  that  they  must  be  the  eyes 
of  some  animal  and  not  of  the  nameless  thing  that 
he  feared.  He  sat  very  still,  watching  those 
sparks  of  pale,  yellow-green  flame.  At  last  they 
shifted  a  little,  a  foot  or  two  to  the  left.  He  won- 
dered if  they  belonged  to  lynx,  fox,  wolf  or  wolver- 
ine, or  to  what  other  hunter  of  the  night.  Need- 
less to  say,  he  felt  no  fear;  for  he  could  not  think 
of  any  animal  of  those  parts  that  would  venture 
to  attack  a  man  beside  a  fire. 

"  It  doubtless  possesses  a  good  pelt,  whatever 
it  is,"  he  reflected.    "  It  is  worth  a  try,  anyway." 
He  raised  his  rifle;    but  before  his  eye  cotdd 
find  the  sights  the  watchful  sparks  had  vanished. 
He  kept  very  quiet  for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes, 
with  his  rifle  ready,  thumb  on  hammer  and  finger 
on  trigt,er;  but  the  yellow-green  eyes  did  not  show 
themselves  again.    He  put  more  wood  on  the  fire, 
and  presently  he  dozed.     He  was  disturbed  by 
something  —  the  suggestion  of  a  swift,  noiseless 
movement  at  his  elbow  — and  opening  his  eyes 
and  turning  quick  as  a  flash  he  saw  that  the 
larger  of  the  two  lumps  of  caribou  flesh  had  van- 
ished.    He    was    startled,    but    interested.     The 
daring  and  skill  of  the  thief  touched  his  admira- 


A  WRENCHED  ANKLE 


91 


tion.  He  reached  forward,  pulled  a  blazing  stick 
from  the  fire,  and  by  its  light  examined  the  snow 
beside,  where  the  great  lump  of  frozen  meat  had 
so  recently  been.  He  foimd  a  distinct  trail  in  the 
soft  snow,  but  a  trail  that  he  could  not  read,  for 
it  was  evident  that  the  animal  that  had  made  it 
had  dragged  itself  forward  on  its  belly.  Then  a 
disquieting  thought  came  to  him.  Might  not  a 
human  being  make  just  such  a  trail,  crawling 
flat.?  He  shifted  his  position  a  little,  so  that 
he  could  keep  his  eye  on  the  darkness  behind 
him. 

After  another  half-hour  of  anxious  waiting, 
Dick  heard  Sober  Sam's  welcome  shout.  Five 
minutes  later  Sam  appeared  beside  him  and  low- 
ered a  pack  consisting  of  provisions  and  two 
sleeping-bags  to  the  snow. 

"  You  were  away  a  long  time,"  said  Dick. 
"  Anything  the  matter?  " 

"  T'ief  in  de  shack,  dat  all,"  replied  Sam,  im- 
passively. 

"  A  thief!  Do  you  mean  that  a  bear  broke  in.'' 
—  or  what  kind  of  thief  are  you  talking  about  r  " 
asked  Dick,  nervously. 

The  old  woodsman  seated  himself  close  to  the 
fire  and  began  to  unpack  the  things  he  had  brought 


i-«t;s'«'f' 


IK  I 


I 

F1;  !'■ 


92     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

from  the  shack.  "  Maybe  b'ar,  maybe  not  b'ar," 
he  said.  "  B'ar's  tracks,  a'right;  but  he  shut 
door  behind  jes'  like  man.  He  take  some  ham. 
some  tea  an'  some  sugar,  an'  don't  spill  nothin' 
on  de  floor." 

"  A  man!  Of  course  it  was  a  man!  "  exclaimed 
Dick.  "  But  what  do  you  mean  about  a  bear's 
tracks?  " 

Sam  smiled.  "  Mean  marks  of  b'ar's  feet  go 
right  up  to  shack  an'  away  again  —  an'  no  marks 
of  man's  feet  at  all." 

"  That  beats  me!  "  admitted  Dick. 

"Maybe  man,  maybe  b'ar  — but  most  like  it 
spirit  of  dat  Pierre,"  said  Sam.  "  Spirits  can 
do  most  anything,  Dick.  Smart  trick  to  walk  like 
ol'  b'ar,  you  bet." 

Dick  tried  i.  argue  the  old  man  out  of  his 
absurd  belief,  but  had  to  give  it  up.  "That's 
the  spirit  I'm  after,"  he  said,  when  he  at  last 
gave  up  the  argument.  "  It's  the  same  spirit 
that  raised  my  hair  with  its  cries  one  night,  and 
cut  off  the  caribou  steak  with  a  sharp  knife. 
I  think  that  a  bullet  will  stop  the  fooling  of  a 
spirit  that  steals  ham  and  tea." 

"  You  dam  smart  feller,  Dick,"  returned  the 
other.    "  You  catch  dat  spirit  some  day,  I  guess, 


A  WRENCHED  ANKLE 


93 


an*  shoot  him  —  'less  he  yell  like  he  done  before 
an'  scare  you  too  bad." 

Dick  was  silent  for  a  moment;  but  presently 
he  said,  "  A  thief  visited  me,  too.  Just  take  a 
look  at  these  marks,  Sam.  I  can't  make  them 
out." 

Sam  possessed  himself  with  a  torch  from  the 
fire  and  examined  the  queer  trail  in  the  snow 
with  interest.  He  even  followed  it  back  into 
the  woods  for  fifteen  or  twenty  yards. 

"  Dat  big  painter,"  he  said.  "  Big  mountain 
cat  with  long  tail,  not  like  lynx.  A '.nighty  bad 
feller,  dat  painter!  He  big  as  two  lynx,  I  guess. 
Don't  see  many  'round  dis  country.  Live  up 
in  big  hills  mostly.  Dam  glad  he  didn't  jump 
atop  of  you,  Dick." 

"So  am  I,"  said  Dick;  but  he  was  greatly 
relieved  to  learn  that  his  silent  visitor  had  been 
nothing  more  unusual  rnd  unexplainable  than  a 
mountain  panther.  Sam  bathed  the  injured  ankle 
with  liniment,  helped  the  sufferer  i.ito  his  sleeping- 
bag,  and  gathered  more  wood  for  the  fire. 

"  I  am  not  sleepy,"  said  Dick.  "  Better  fill 
your  pipe,  Sam,  and  tell  me  what  we  are  going 
to  do  about  that  thief.  Spirit  or  bear  or  man, 
we  can't  afford  to  let  it  carry  off  our  grub." 


I 


94     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


ti 


"  Set  two  trap  for  him,  anyhow,  under  snow 
outside  door,"  replied  Sam.  "If  he  b'ar,  good 
enough.  If  he  man,  maybe  catch  him  too.  If  he 
spirit  of  Pierre  Lacross  —  well,  dat  a'right. 
Gruess  he  won't  t'ief  no  more  to-night,  anyhow." 

Dick  awoke  next  morning  to  find  that  the  sun- 
light was  already  flooding  low  through  the  eastern 
forests  and  that  breakfast  was  ready.  Sam  was 
smoking  his  pipe,  with  empty  plate  and  mug  in 
front  of  him.  He  brought  bacon,  biscuits  and 
tea  to  Dick  and  then  undressed  and  examined 
his  ankle  again.  The  swelling  was  considerably 
reduced.  "  Guess  you  move  tomorrow,  a'right," 
he  said.  Then  he  slipped  his  feet  into  the  thongs 
of  his  racquets  and  took  up  his  rifle. 

"  Are  you  going  to  leave  me  alone  all  day?  *' 
asked  Dick. 

Sam  nodded.  "  Got  to  tend  traps  east  of  the 
pond,  Dick  —  an'  squint  at  shack,  I  guess.  I 
catch  dat  queer  b'ar  in  one  trap,  maybe." 

"  So  you  don't  really  think  it  is  Pierre  Lacross, 
after  all,"  said  Dick,  quickly.  "  You  are  not 
such  a  fool  as  you  pretend  to  be,  Sam." 

"Oh!  I  t'ink  plenty  you  don't  understand," 
returned  the  old  fellow,  grinning.  "  If  I  catch 
dat  t'ief  in  trap  den  I  say  him  no  spirit." 


A  WRENCHED  ANKLE 


95 


"That's  reasonable,"  said  Dick,  laughing. 
••  But  see  here,  Sam,  get  back  as  early  as  you  can, 
will  you?  This  is  not  a  pleasant  country  to  sleep 
alone  in,  with  such  queer  kinds  of  thieves  prowling 
about  in  it." 


*■ 


^m^ 


I    ! 


I 


I 


1  ; , 


I 

I-   #      iv 


CHAPTER    VIII 

MORE    SIGNS    OF   THE    QUEER   THIEF 

Dick  spent  a  tiresome  day,  with  only  the 
whiskey-jacks  and  his  thoughts  for  company. 
Sam  had  left  enough  wood  to  keep  the  fire  sup- 
plied, and  he  managed  to  get  his  own  simple 
dinner  without  standing  on  his  lame  foot.  He 
saw  nothing  more  of  the  mountain  panther. 
However,  greatly  to  his  relief  and  surprise,  Sober 
Sam  returned  early  in  the  afternoon. 

"  Pretty  darn  queer  tricks!  "  exclaimed  the 
old  man.  "  Last  night  both  t'iefs  come  to  shack 
—  both  de  painter  an'  de  b'ar,  De  tracks  run 
side  by  side,  right  up  to  door  an'  away  again." 

"  Great  Scot!  "  cried  Dick.  "  A  panther  and  a 
bear  hunting  together!  I  never  heard  anything 
like  that  before." 

"  Me  too.    Darn  queer  tricks." 

"  And  what  about  the  traps?  " 

"Traps  dug  up  an'  sprung  —  an'  hung  up 
inside  de  shack." 

"  Bless  my  soul !   The  place  must  be  bewitched. " 

96 


SIGNS  OF  THE  QUEER  THIEF    97 

"A 'mighty  strong  medicine-man  'round  here, 
anyhow.     You  bet!  " 

Dick  was  bewildered  and  his  nerve  was  some- 
what shaken.  The  thought  of  a  panther  and  a 
bear  hunting  together  and  springing  traps  and 
hanging  them  up  in  the  shack  was  too  much  even 
for  his  courage  and  hard  head.  It  was  almost 
enough  to  make  even  an  Englishman  believe  in 
spirits  and  the  magic  of  medicine-men. 

"  Did  they  take  much,  this  time?  "  he  asked. 

"  Queer  t'ing,  dat,"  replied  Sam,  scratching 
his  hairless,  mahogany  chin.  "  Nothin'  stole  but 
some  baccy,  and  someone  drink  a  mug  of  tea." 

"  Do  bears  drink  tea  and  smoke?  or  do  pan- 
thers?  or  do  spirits?  " 

Sam  shook  his  head.  "  Medicine-man  drink  tea 
and  smoke,  an'  turn  himself  into  b'ar  whenever  he 
he  like  —  if  he  got  mighty  potent  medicine." 

"And  what  about  an  ordinary  man?"  asked 
Dick.  "  Didn't  you  see  any  ordinary  man-tracks 
around  the  shack?  " 

"  No.  Follow  dat  b'ar's  tracks  most  two  mile,  I 
guess;  an'  den  got  kinder  scart  an'  quit.  Dat 
medicine  too  a'mighty  strong  for  Sam.  Guess 
we  shift  camp  into  nother  country  pretty  soon, 
Dick." 


•Mi- 


98    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

"  Guess  again,"  returned  Dick,  making  use  of 
an  expression  he  had  learned  at  Wolf's  Landing. 
He  stared  moodily  at  the  fire.  This  was  a  good 
fur-country,  and  he  did  not  relish  the  idea  of 
making  a  move  of  fifty  or  a  hundred  miles,  in 
mid-winter,  perhaps  into  a  poorer  country.  But 
if  robbers  possessed  of  the  feet  of  wild  beasts  and 
the  brains  and  fingers  of  men  persisted  in  taking 
toll  of  his  provisions  and  his  traps,  there  would 
be  nothing  else  for  it  but  a  change  of  ground  — 
unless  the  strange  thief,  or  thieves,  could  be 
brought  to  book. 

"  Honestly,  Sam,  did  you  ever  see  a  medicine- 
man.? "  he  asked. 

"Yes.  A'mighty  good  medicine-man  up  in 
Long  Arrow  country,  ten  year  ago.  Dat  one 
had  pler^y  strong  magic,  Dick.  Skin-um-mink 
was  his  name." 

"  Could  he  turn  himself  into  a  bear.?  " 

"Yes,  you  bet!  Or  into  a  httle  chickadee- 
bird,  too." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  him  turn  into  either  a  bear 
or  a  bird.?  " 

Sam  shook  his  head.  "  No.  He  wouldn't  do 
it  when  anyone  was  lookin'." 

"Sam,"  said  Dick,  earnestly,  "we  must  keep 


%V"'1HEH9IW1B1W 


SIGNS  OF  THE  QUEER  THIEF    99 

cool.  This  is  a  good  country,  and  we  don't  want  to 
leave  it  unless  we  jolly  well  have  to.  The  sooner 
we  track  down  that  thing  that  walks  like  a  bear 
and  drinks  tea  like  a  man,  and  learn  exactly  what 
it  is,  the  better  for  us  and  our  business.  It  takes 
pretty  strong  magic,  you  know,  to  beat  a  well 
handled  rifle." 

"Maybe  so,  Dick,"  replied  Sam.  "Anyhow, 
we  go  look  for  dat  t'ief  soon  as  you  can  walk. 
Maybe  we  find  out  all  about  him  —  an'  all  about 
dat  painter,  too." 

The  old  man  spoke  hopefully;  but  the  belief 
that  they  were  being  preyed  upon  by  a  bad  medi- 
cine-man of  strong  magic  was  firm  in  his  mind. 
In  the  days  of  his  youth  his  old  grandmother 
had  told  him  hundreds  of  tales  of  the  doings  of 
bad  medicine-men  —  not  as  f;i  :ry  stories  but  as 
authentic  history.  His  own  great-grandfather 
had  been  a  medicine-man  of  more  than  local 
fame  and  (according  to  the  old  dame's  story) 
had  ended  his  career  in  a  most  unusual  and  dis- 
tressing manner.  His  favourite  amusement  had 
been  to  run  about  in  the  form  of  a  little  hare; 
and,  one  day,  while  indulging  in  this  diversion, 
a  hunter  had  shot  him  with  an  arrow  and,  a  few 
hours  later,  eaten  him  for  supper.     Sober  Sam 


I 


n 


n\ 


i 


1.1 


11 


100    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

believed  this  tale :  so  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at 
that  he  felt  anxious  and  did  not  want  to  investi- 
gate the  mystery  of  the  thief  until  Dick  could 
join  him  in  the  adventure.  He  said  that  he  had 
followed  the  tracks  of  the  bear  for  a  distance  of 
two  miles  from  the  shack.  I.  had  seemed  two 
miles  to  him,  no  doubt;  but  it  had  really  been 
a  trifle  less  than  half  a  mile. 

Sober  Sam  kept  Dick  company  in  the  open 
that  night,  frankly  admitting  that  he  was  afraid 
to  sleep  alone  in  the  shack.     The  night  passed 
without    accident    or   excitement    of   any    kind, 
and  early  in  the  morning  they  set  out  for  the 
shack.     The  swelling  had   almost  entirely  gone 
from  Dick's  ankle,  though  it  was  still  very  tender 
—  too  tender  to  allow  of  the  foot  being  touched 
to  the  ground.    Sam  made  a  rough  sort  of  crutch 
and  fastened  one  of  the  racquets  to  the  end  of  it. 
By  the  help  of  this,  and  with  the  other  racquet 
on  his  uninjured  foot,  Dick  found  that  he  could 
move  slowly  along  his  companion's  well  beaten 
trail.    So  they  set  out,  Sam  leading  and  carrying 
both  rifles  and  every  pound  of  the  kit.     Dick 
pegged  along  like  a  hero;  but  after  covering  half 
a  mile  in  an  hour  he  was  forced  to  call  a  halt.    A 
home-made  crutch  with  a  snow-shoe  on  the  end 


SIGNS  OF  THE  QUEER  THIEF    101 


of  it  is  not  an  easy  thing  for  a  lame  man  to  manip- 
ulate. After  a  half- hour's  rest  he  went  at  it 
again.  It  was  mid-afternoon  when  the  shack  was 
reached ;  and  by  that  time  Dick  was  fairly  done. 
Sam  helped  him  off  with  his  outer  clothing  and 
tucked  him  away  in  his  bunk. 

Three  days  passed  before  Dick  could  again 
bear  his  weight  on  his  left  foot.  During  those 
three  days  and  nights  no  further  signs  of  either 
the  bear  or  the  panther  had  appeared.  On  the 
third  night  after  Dick's  painful  journey  snow 
fell  heavily.  So  Dick  kept  to  the  shack  for  another 
day  and  again  Sam  went  out  alone  to  attend 
to  the  traps.  The  old  man  took  a  kettle  and  grub 
with  him,  for  he  expected  to  go  to  the  western  line 
and  not  get  back  until  after  stmset.  Dick  busied 
himself  with  mending  his  clothes  and  stretching 
pelts  until  after  dinner-time.  After  cooking  and 
eating  liberal  rations  of  pork  and  pan-cakes,  and 
topping  off  with  stewed  prunes,  he  climbed  into  his 
bunk  and  fell  asleep. 

Dick  was  not  a  heavy  sleeper.  Suddenly  he 
opened  his  eyes,  all  his  senses  instantly  alert. 
He  lay  very  still,  wondering  what  had  awakened 
him.  He  wa'-.  sure  that  he  had  heard  something, 
and  yet  not  so  much  as  an  echo  of  the  sound  re- 


I 


M^ 


ti';i 


102    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

mained  with  him.  Presently  he  got  noiselessly 
from  his  bimk,  took  his  rifle  from  the  wall  and 
went  over  to  the  tiny  window.  He  looked  out 
and  by  the  failing  light  could  see  nothing  but  the 
le\'el,  pallid  snow  and  the  black  spruces.  Then 
he  went  to  the  door,  withdrew  the  wooden  bolt 
and  cautiously  opened  it.  Greatly  to  his  relief, 
nothing  was  there.  He  pulled  the  door  of  rough- 
hewn  planks  wide  open  and  stepped  outside. 
"  Now  what  was  it  that  wakened  me?  "  he  mur- 
mured.   "  I  must  have  heard  something." 

At  that  moment,  as  if  in  answer  to  his  question, 
the  sharp  report  of  a  rifle  cracked  out,  somewhere 
in  the  woods  to  the  north  and  not  far  away.  Then 
he  felt  sure  that  the  sound  that  had  awakened 
him  had  been  the  report  of  a  rifle. 

"  Surely  Sam  can't  have  lost  himself,"  he  re- 
flected. "  By  the  sound  of  that  shot  ^  should  say 
that  he  must  be  within  a  few  yards  of  the  lake." 
He  drew  a  dog-whistle  from  his  pocket  and 
blew  a  shrill  blast.  Then  he  waited  by  the  open 
door;  and  in  a  few  minutes  Sober  Sam  appeared, 
running  heavily.  Dick  stepped  aside,  and  Sam 
entered  the  shack  at  full  speed,  with  his  snow- 
shoes  still  on  his  feet,  s^^-ung  around  as  fast  as  he 
could  and  slammed  and  bolted  the  door. 


SIGNS  OF  THE  QUEER  THIEF    103 


"  Great  Scot!  "  cried  Dick,  "  what  is  the  matter 
with  you?  " 

The  old  man  dropped  his  rifle,  kicked  his 
racquets  from  his  feet  and  flopped  down  on  the 
edge  of  his  bimk.  He  was  breathless,  and  his 
round  face  was  rather  less  the  shade  of  old  ma- 
hogany than  usual.  He  coiild  not  speak  for  a 
minute  or  two.  This  gave  Dick  quite  a  turn.  He 
went  over  to  the  old  chap  and  patted  him  on  the 
back. 

"  Are  you  ill?  "  he  asked.  "  By  Jovt  Sam, 
you  don't  look  at  all  fit.  Are  you  hurt?  Are  you 
ill?  And  what  the  mischief  were  you  sniping 
at?  " 

"  Hoi'  on,"  gasped  Sam.  "  You  ax  questions 
too  dam  quick." 

After  a  while  he  said,  "I  get  a 'mighty  big 
scar'  Dick,  I  see  some  darn  queer  things.  Hark ! 
what's  dat  noise?  " 

Dick  listened.  "  I  don't  hear  anything,"  he 
said.     "  You  are  rattled !  " 

Sam  crossed  to  the  little  window  and  peeped 
cautiously  out;  but  by  now  it  was  almost  dark 
and  his  vision  did  not  carry  more  than  a  few 
yards  from  the  shack.  He  moved  over  to  the 
door,   stood   for  a  minute  with  his  ear  to  the 


104     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


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llli 


crack,  then  opened  it  an  inch  or  two.  Dick 
joined  him.  "  Look  here,  Sam,  what  in  thunder 
is  the  matter  with  you?  "  he  asked,  thoroughly 
anxious  about  his  companion's  behaviour. 

Sam  closed  and  fastened  the  door  and  returned 
to  his  seat  on  the  edge  of  his  bunk.  "  Guess  it 
didn't  foller  me,"  he  said.  He  filled  his  pipe,  lit  it 
and  the  smoky  lantern  with  one  match,  and 
then  told  of  the  following  remarkable  adven- 
tures. 

On  leaving  the  shack  early  that  morning,  Sam 
had  intended  to  follow  the  western  line  of  traps ; 
but,  at  a  whim,  he  had  changed  his  course  and 
travelled  northward  instead.  The  northward  line 
ran  along  the  left-hand  bank  of  the  lake  for  about 
three  miles,  rounded  the  top  of  the  pond  and  led 
back  to  the  shack  by  way  of  the  right-hand  shore. 
Through  a  shortage  of  traps  only  seven  were  set 
on  this  line  —  about  one  to  every  mile.  It  was  a 
good  country,  too,  and  fairly  easy  to  travel.  Sam 
reached  the  first  trap,  only  to  find  that  a  wolverine 
had  taken  the  bait  and  got  safely  away.  Grunt- 
ing his  disgust,  he  hung  the  trap  in  a  tree,  in- 
tending to  reset  and  rebait  it  next  day.  As  he 
could  not  find  the  tracks  of  the  wolverine  he 
knew  that  the  trap  had  been  visited  prev^ious  to 


* 


SIGNS  OF  THE  QUEER  THIEF    106 

the  snow-fall  of  the  night.    The  second  trap  had 
the  bait  still  in  it.     That  did  not   please   him 
greatly,  for  he  woidd  rather  have  found  a  mink, 
or  even  a  red  fox.     Tramping  onward,  he  soon 
came  to  the  low-lying,  tangled   country  at  the 
head  of  the  lake.     This  region  was  a  swamp  in 
summer,  full  of  sodden  hummocks  of  moss,  pools 
of  black  and  stagna  it  water,  thickets  of  alders 
and  spruce-tuck,  wi  h  the  grey  boles  of  water- 
killed  hemlocks  and  pines  standing  here  and  there 
in  desolate  groups.    The  place  was  never  inviting, 
summer  or  winter,   spring  or  autumn;    but  in 
winter,  when  the  black  pools  were  floored  with 
ice  and  shrouded  deep  with  snow,  a  man  could 
travel  it  with  comparative  ease,  and  it  promised 
good  fur. 

Sam  had  set  two  traps  in  the  swamp,  and  he 
entered  it  with  high  hopes  of  mink.  Following 
certain  guiding  marks,  he  soon  came  to  the  place 
that  he  had  selected  for  the  nearer  of  the  two 
traps.  But  he  could  not  find  it.  Thinking  he 
had  made  a  mistake,  he  retraced  his  steps  for 
fifty  yards  or  so,  picked  out  his  land-marks  again 
and  made  another  try.  It  brought  him  to  the 
same  spot.  He  was  puzzled,  for  the  trap  had 
been  chained  to  a  solid  root  far  beneath  the  snow. 


* 


106    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


I 

I     » 


ml 


'  vt 


He  tramped  around  and  around,  beating  the 
bushes;  but  he  could  not  find  so  much  as  a  sign 
of  that  trap.  At  last  he  gave  it  up  as  a  bad  job 
and  went  on  to  examine  the  other.  He  found 
the  place  where  he  had  set  it  easily  enough;  but 
that  was  all.  This  trap,  like  the  other,  had  van- 
ished. Sam  beat  the  thickets,  dug  about  in  the 
snow,  scared  up  into  the  branches  of  the  trees; 
but  he  might  just  as  well  have  saved  himself 
the  trouble.  Then  he  began  to  wonder  if  he  had 
ever  set  the  traps  in  the  swamp  at  all.  Perhaps 
he  had  only  dreamed  it.  Or  perhaps  his  mind 
was  going  wrong.  At  last  he  sat  down  on  a  fallen 
hemlock,  pulled  out  his  pipe  and  lit  it,  and  tried 
to  cool  his  mind  and  think  it  all  out.  He  smoked 
and  thought  for  fifteen  .  uutes,  and  at  the  end 
of  that  time  found  himself  no  wiser  than  at  the 
beginning.  At  last  he  knocked  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe  and  got  l.j  his  feet  —  and  then  he  heard 
something  that  made  his  scalp  tickle  under  his 
fur  cap.  A  shrill,  long-drawn  screaming  yell 
rang  through  the  frozen  air. 

For  a  moment  Sam  was  fairly  staggered,  think- 
ing of  spirits  and  medicine-men,  for  there  was 
no  doubt  in  his  mind  that  this  was  the  same  cry 
that  had  given  Dick  such  a  fright  away  over  at 


SIGNS  OF  THE  QUEER  THIEF    107 

the  edge  of  the  western  barren.    Again  the  terrible 
voice  shattered  the  quiet  of  the  wilderness;  and 
now  the  grip  of  fear  left  Sam's  tough  old  heart, 
for  he  recognized  it  as  the  voice  of  the  painter, 
or  mountain   panther.     It   was   years  since   he 
had  seen  or  heard  one  of  these  big  cats.    He  had 
never  before  known  one  of  them  to  visit  the  Little 
Beaver  country.     He  snapped  a  shell  into  the 
breech  of  his  riile  and  continued  on  his  way; 
but  he  "kept  his  eye  skinned,"  as  they  say  in 
the  woods.     Unusually  hungry  and  courageous 
painters  have  been  known  to  drop  out  of  trees  upon 
men's  shoulders,  just  as  they  do  upon  the  necks 
of  deer  and  caribou.     So  the  old  trapper  kept  a 
sharp  lookout  on  every  side  and  overhead  as  he 
forced    his   way   through   the    tangled   thickets. 
Again  he  heard  the  cry,  still  in  front  of  him  but 
much  nearer.    Twenty  minutes  later  he  won  clear 
of  the  swamp.     Here  the  land  was  higher,  the 
trees  were  larger  and  stood  farther  apart,  and 
such  little  underbrush  as  there  was  lay  buried 
beneath  the  long,  gradual  drifts  of  snow. 

Sam  halted  and  gazed  in  every  diiection,  hoping 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  big  cat.  But  it  was  no- 
where in  sight. 

"Too   dam  bad,"   he   muttered.     "Like  to 


^3r 


1^^ 


I 


108    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

shoot  him  fust-rate.    A'mighty  fine  skin,  maybe, 
an*  Gover'ment  bounty  too." 

A  glance  at  the  sun  told  him  that  Ihe  hour 
was  well  past  noon,  so  he  built  his  fire,  filled  his 
kettle  with  snow  to  melt  for  his  tea,  and  made 
a  comfortable  seat  of  fir  boughs.  It  was  a  pleasant 
placp  to  lunch  in  and  rest  for  an  hour,  and  there 
was  just  a  chance  that  the  panther  might  hang 
around,  attracted  by  the  smell  of  frying  pork, 
and  even  show  himself.  So  while  Sam  fried  the 
pork  and  steeped  the  tea  he  kept  his  eyes  moving 
and  his  rifle  in  his  left  hand.  And  while  he  ate  his 
simple  fare  his  rifle  lay  ready  across  his  knees. 


ii 


m 


CHAPTER    IX 

SOBER  SAM's   adventure    IS    CONTINUED 

Sober  Sam  ate  in  peace,  without  being  dis- 
turbed by  sight  or  sound  of  the  panther.  After 
the  fourth  slice  of  pork  and  the  fourth  mug  of 
milkless  tea,  he  cleaned  the  empty  dishes  with 
snow  and  placed  them  close  to  the  fire  to  dry. 
Then  he  lit  his  pipe  and  leaned  back  comfortably 
on  his  couch  of  elastic  branches.  He  was  still 
puzzling  over  the  case  of  the  two  traps  that  had 
vanished  from  the  swamp;  but  his  mind  was 
somewhat  clouded  by  the  weight  of  pork  and  tea 
in  his  stomach.  Like  many  of  his  race  Sam  was 
inclined  to  feast  too  heartily  when  plenty  of  food 
was  at  hand.  In  the  time  of  famine  he  could  pull 
in  his  belt  with  the  best  of  them. 

For  about  fifteen  minutes  Sam  reclined  on  his 
back,  gazing  straight  up  at  the  thin,  fleckless 
blue  sky.  Then  he  turned  over  on  his  right  elbow, 
perhaps  to  shift  the  position  of  his  mighty  dinner. 
His  vision  carried  far  among  the  tall,  wide- 
standing  trees,    over  the  white  levels  of  snow. 

109 


]i^,'',-l 


fj 


110    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

There  seemed  to  be  no  life  at  aU  in  the  wilderness 
—  no  cry  or  movement  of  bird  or  beast.  The 
frosty  sunlight  sifted  down  through  the  spreading 
branches  of  spruce,  pine  and  fur,  and  traced  pale 
blue  shadows  on  the  snow. 

"Darn  fine  country,"  murmured  Sam;  "but 
can't  t'ink  what's  de  trouble  with  dem  traps. 
Dat  beats  me  all  fell,  you  bet!  " 

Just  then  the  stillness  was  broken  by  a  chuck- 
ling laugh.  Yes,  a  laugh  —  an  unpleasant,  clat- 
tering chuckle.  Sam  sat  straight  up,  as  if  a  spring 
had  been  touched  inside  him.  He  raised  his  rifle 
and  stared  about  him  with  amazed  and  frightened 
eyes.  Again  he  felt  all  the  hairs  of  his  head  tingle 
at  their  roots,  as  if  every  last  one  of  them  was 
trying  to  pull  itself  away  from  the  scalp.  A  human 
laugh  is  a  terrible  sound  to  hear  in  an  unpeopled 
wilderness  —  unexpected,  unexplained,  unpro- 
voked. 

"  Must  be  some  kinder  bird,"  gasped  Sam,  in  a 
cracked  voice.  But  he  did  not  really  think  so. 
The  uncanny  laughter  had  sounded  from  straight 
ahead  and  not  far  away;  but  Sam  could  not  see 
anything.  He  got  quietly  to  his  feet,  tied  on  his 
racquets  with  trembling  fingers  and,  forgetting 
his  dishes,   started  slowly  along  the  back  trail 


SOBER  SAM'S  ADVENTURE  111 

with  his  chin  on  his  shoulder.    He  had  not  gone 
more  ^hai\  ;r  doz'^.n  yards,  however,  before  some- 
thing  -  r.  soundl<-  b  warning  tingling  through  the 
air  an!  louching  nis  brain  — caused  him  to  look 
ahead.     There,   crossing  his  trail  like  a  tawny 
shadow,  slipped  the  big  panther.     Its  head  was 
turned  toward  the  old  trapper  and  its  pale,  mer- 
ciless eyes  met  his  with  a  steady,  flaming,  de- 
risive regard.    Sam  halted,  and  terror  went  over 
him  like  a  wave  of  icy  water  —  terror  at  the 
thought  that  this  big  cat  and  the  unseen  creature 
that  had  laughed  were  one  and  the  same.    They 
must  be  one  and  the  same!  —  a  master  of  magic! 
For  a  second  of  two  he  stared  at  the  panther 
and  the  panther  glared  back  unblinkingly ;  then, 
moving  swiftly  but  without  any  effort  at  haste,' 
it  vanished  among  the  trees. 

Sam  was  in  a  terrible  funk.  He  was  not  a 
coward,  and  would  have  stood  up  to  three  bona 
fide,  guaranteed  panthers  without  turning  a  hair 
—  that  is,  without  turning  a  hair  of  his  own.  What 
he  might  do  to  the  hairs  and  hides  of  the  panthers, 
in  such  a  case,  is  more  than  I  can  say.  But  of 
magic,  medicine-men  and  spirits  he  stood  in 
deadly  terror.  He  moved  forward,  shaking  and 
stumbling,  afraid  to  run  and  just  as  much  afraid 


r"     I 


i: 


112    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

of  going  too  slowly.  AH  the  weird  stories  that 
he  had  ever  heard  crowded  into  his  quaking 
mind. 

Suddenly  that  terrible  laughter  rang  out  again 
—  and  it  was  still  behind  him ! 

Sam  turned  so  quickly  that  he  fouled  one  rac- 
quet with  the  other  and  so  brought  himself  heavily 
to  his  knees.     This  threw  him  in  an  absolute 
panic  and  he  uttered  a  horror-stricken  cry  as  he 
struggled  to  his  feet.     He  was  facing  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  laugh  now  —  and  far  away  between 
the  ranks  of  trees  he  saw  something  large  and 
black  standing  straight,    motionless  and   bulky 
among  the  shadow^^.     It  had  a  menacing,   un- 
natural look  about  it;    but  the  nearer  glare  of 
sunlight   on   snow   and   the    farther  twilight   of 
twisted  shadows  bothered  Sam's  eyes  so  that  he 
could  not  be  sure  whether  the  thing  was  a  man, 
a  beast  or  some  grotesque  stump.     But  fear  had 
driven  reason  from  his  mind.     Scarcely  knowing 
what  he  did  he  raised  his  rifle  and  fired.    It  was 
a  wild  shot  —  perhaps  the  wildest  he  had  ever 
made  in  all  his  long  life.    He  saw  one  of  the  lower 
branches  of  a  fir  quake  and  spill  its  load  of  snow. 
That  was  all  the  good  he  had  accomplished  by 
that  mad  shot.    And  now  the  thing  among  the 


S-! '  i: 


tfts^l 


> 


SOBER  SAM'S  ADVENTURE  113 

shadows  moved  forward,  walking  upright  like  a 
man.     Sam  turned  again  and  ran  at  top  speed. 

Sam  Kcpt  to  his  old  trail,  though  he  was  scarcely 
conscious  of  it.  At  the  edge  of  the  swamp  the 
panther  slipped  across  a  little  clearing  in  front 
of  him,  about  fifty  yards  away.  He  let  {\y, 
without  bringing  the  rifle  to  his  shoxilder  or 
halting  for  an  instant.  That  shot  was  even  wider 
than  the  first.  The  panther  vanished  and  that 
terrible  laughter  rang  again  in  the  forest  behind. 
Sam  did  not  turn  his  head,  but  continued  to 
race  forward  at  top  speed,  leaping  obstructions 
like  a  champion  hurdler.  The  new,  unpacked 
snow  lodged  on  his  broad  racquets;  but  he  shook 
it  clear  as  he  ran.  He  was  winged  b  ear,  for 
he  was  sure  by  now  that  two  magiciaru  instead 
of  one  were  after  him. 

Sam  was  half-way  through  the  swamp  before 
his  pace  slackened.  He  was  utterly  winded,  and 
all  the  bad  magic  between  Quebec  and  Hudson 
Bay  could  not  have  got  another  jump  out  of  him 
just  then.  He  dropped  to  his  knees  and  panted 
like  a  dog.  He  was  sound  of  wind  and  limb,  how- 
ever, and  in  a  minute  was  on  his  feet  again. 
Shut  in  by  the  lifeless,  tangled  growth  of  the 
swamp,  he  could  not  see  for  more  than  a  few  yards 


• ; 


H 


I 


114    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

in  any  direction.     He  glanced  nervously  around 
snapped  a  shell  from  the  magazine  into  the  breech 
of  his  rifle,  and  started  on  again  at  a  Iv-       og 
He  was  anxious  to  get  out  of  the  swamp  .s  soon 
as   possible.      He   kept   his   neck   on   the   twist 
dreading  an  ambush  or  a  rear  attack,  and  had 
not  made  more  than  a  hundred  yards  before  he 
saw  the  panther  leap  into  the  trail  about  twenty 
feet  behind  him.    Twisting  around  from  the  hips, 
without  turning  his  feet,  he  fired.     The  bullet 
snipped  into  the  si.ow  where  the  panther  had 
stood.     The  big  cat  was  a  quick  jumper.     Sam 
raced  onward  at  a  greatly  accelerated  pace. 

At  last  Sam  reached  the  more  open  ^orest  be- 
yond the  swamp,  jogged  to  the  brow  of  a  little 
hill  and  turned  to  see  if  anything  followed.    Also 
he  wanted  to  recover  his  wind  again,  for  running 
through   the  woods  on  racquets,    in   new-fallen 
snow,  is  not  the  same  sport  as  loping  along  a 
cmder  track.     Neither  of  his   terrible   pursuers 
was  in  sight.     Through  the  trees  on  his  left  he 
saw  the  wide,  white  expanse  of  Two-Fox  Pond 
and  it  occurred  to  him  that  there  lay  his  safest 
road  home.    Once  on  the  lake,  he  would  command 
a  clear  and   expansive  view  in  every  direction. 
He  was  just  out  of  the  underbrush  and  had  his 


SOBER   SAM'S  ADVENTURE    115 

feet  on  the  level  surface,  when  that  diabolical 
laughter  sounded  again,  but  now  a  long  distance 
to  the  rear.  It  was  near  enough,  however,  to 
send  the  old  trapper  forward  on  the  jump.  He  was 
a  good  fifty  yards  from  the  shore  before  he  looked 
behind  him.  Seeing  nothing,  he  shaped  his  course 
for  the  upper  end  of  the  pond,  walking  at  a  good 
pace. 

Sober  Sam  had  not  covered  more  than  a  mile 
of  the  distance  between  the  head  of  the  lake  and 
the  shack  when   he  again  caught   sight  of  the 
panther.     It  was  running  level  with  him,  just  at 
the  edge  of  the  heavy  timber  that  rimmed  the 
lake.     Sam  halted  and  brought  his  rifle  to  his 
shoulder;    but  a  little  clot  of  snow  fouled  the 
fore-sight.     Muttering  an  oath,  he  lowered  the 
weapon  and  quickly  brushed  the  snow  away  with 
his  left  hand;    but  the  panther  had  noticed  his 
preparations  and  leapt  out  of  sight   among   the 
trees.      Anger    tinged    the    old    trapper's    fear. 
"  You  seem  a'mighty  scart  of  a  rifle!  "  he  snarled, 
and  fired  at  the  spot  where  the  beast  had  vanished. 
He  snapped  another  cartridge  into  the  breech  and 
waited.     His  fear  of  the  panther  had  dwindled, 
and  so  had  his  respect  for  it,  for  anyone  possessed 
of  real,    potent  magic     'ould  be  proof  against 


116    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

buUets;  but  the  thought  of  the  bulky,  black 
thing  that  looked  like  a  bear  and  laughed  like  a 
man  still  daunted  his  tough  old  heart.  "  Guess 
I  wait  few  minutes,"  he  muttered.  "Guess  I 
try  one  more  shot  at  dat  dam  painter." 

Now  he  began  to  feel  the  effects  of  his  wild  run, 
so  he  squatted  on  his  racquets  and  smoked  his 
pipe,  keeping  his  face  toward  the  wall  of  forest 
behind  which  he  believed  the  big  cat  to  be  lurking. 
The  tobacco  tasted  good  and  the  rest  was  very 
welcome.     Ten  minutes  passed,  twenty  minutes 
passed  —  and  then,  as  sudden  and  quick  as  a  flash 
of  light,  the  panther  sprang  from  cover,  screamed 
derisively  and  sprang  back  again.     Sam  was  so 
astonished    at    this    meaningless   and    unnatural 
antic  that  he  almost  lost  his  balance  and  forgot 
to  fire.     He  was  so  angry  when  he  recovered  his 
balance  and  self-possession  that  the  thing  that 
laughed  like  a  man  was  forgotten. 

"Dat  painter  one  darn  fool,"  he  muttered. 
He  t'ink  he  scar'  me  dat  time,  I  guess.  Maybe 
I  scar'  him  instead  -  if  he  give  me  good  chance. 
He  come  too  darn  suddent  dat  time;  but  no  yellin' 
F)ainter  can  fool  Sobe-  Sam  twice  in  de  same  day." 
So  he  continued  to  wait,  crouching  in  the  snow 
on  his  broad  racquets  and  gazing  at  the  woods. 


CTLrSS^iirdSi 


•^cfsjimifz  -vafxmmfia* 


/j'^.r^fitiT 


IT   WAS   ADVA  NCI. NC,    WAI.KIM;    ri'NlClir   l.IKK   A    MAN. 


■; 


w 


if'  .  i 
...  h     • 


m 


n  .  '  I, 


;,ersy^-_ 


C^J,    •* 


SOBER   SAM'S  ADVENTURE    117 

For  a  long  time  he  remained  as  motionless  as  a 
stump;  and  then,  suddenly  and  with  a  twinge  of 
consternation,  he  realized  that  the  early  twilight 
was  gathering  over  the  wilderness      He  straight- 
ened hin^self  with  a  jerk.     "  Guess  I  better  not 
wait  any  more,"  he  said  —and  at  that  moment 
he  caught  sight  of  something  big  and  black  on 
the  snow  at  the  edge  of  the  woods.     It  was  ad- 
vancing, walking  upright  like  a  man,   its  great 
arms  extended.     Even  in  the   failing   light  his 
horrified  gaze  showed  him  that  its  head,  limbs 
and  bulky  body  were  those  of  a  bear.    Forgetting 
to  use  his  rifle  he  turned  toward  the  lower  end 
of  the  lake  —  and  just  then  that  terrible  laughter 
rang   abroad.      Uttering  a   low   cry,    he   dashed 
away.    Another  volley  of  laughter  followed  him. 
Over  the  level  surface  of  the  pond  he  ran  as  he 
had  never  run  before.     All  his  anger  had  fled 
and  he  was  inspired  by  nothing  but  immixed 
terror.     He  had  made  about  five  himdred  yards 
when  he  became  aware  of  the  long,  slinking  form 
of  the  panther  in  front  of  him.     He  fired,  still 
running  at  full  speed  and  without  pretending  to 
take  aim,  and  the  panther  sprang  away  to  the 
cover  of  the  woods.     That  was  the  shot  that 
awakened  Dick  from  his  nap. 


1 


h 


fil; 


S; 


118    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

As  Sam  neared  the  lower  end  of  the  lake  he 
fired  again,  hysterically,  though  neither  of  his 
tormentors  was  in  sight.  A  few  minutes  later 
he  reached  the  shack,  breathless,  dashed  in  with 
his  snow-shoes  still  on  his  tcet  and  slammed  and 
bolted  the  door  behind  him. 

Dick  Ramsey  listened  to  the  old  trapper's  story 
with  the  deepest  interest  and,  at  first,  with  de- 
cided  quakings    of    apprehension.     But  as  the 
story  progressed  he  began  to  think  that  he  saw 
through  the  black  magic,  or  bad  medicine,  or  what 
ever  it  was.    He  had  a  keen  mind,  and  his  wits 
had       '    been  shaken  like  poor  old  Sam's.     At 
the  conclusion  of  the  tale  he  felt  convinced  that 
he  could  explain  the  whole  thing  —  to  his  own 
satisfaction,  at  least. 

"  That  panther,"  said  he,  "  is  just  an  ordinary 
panther,  and  the  same  one  that  stole  the  caribou 
meat  from  me  the  other  night.  There  is  no  doubt 
about  it." 

"  Dam  smart  one,  anyhow!  Smartest  painter 
I  ever  see,"  returned  Sam. 

"  And  the  thing  that  looked  like  a  bear  and 

laughed  like  a  man,  is  a  man,"  continued  Dick. 

Also,  it  is  the  same  man  that  robbed  our  traps 

and  used  to  make  round  holes  in  the  snow  when  it 


SOBER  SAM'S  ADVENTURE  119 

walked.  Now  it  makes  tracks  like  a  bear  — 
sometimes,  at  least  —  but  for  all  that  he  is  the 
same  sly  fellow  who  has  been  bothering  us,  and 
trying  to  drive  us  out  of  the  country,  ever  siifce 
we  began  work.  He  is  no  more  a  medicine-man 
than  I  am  — I'll  bet  my  hat  on  that!  He  is 
nothing  but  a  clever,  mean  robber!  " 

"He  look  just  Hke  b'ar,"  said  Sam,  "and  he 
make  b'ar's  tracks  a'right.  He  walk  like  b'ar 
'round  de  shack,  an'  sometime  he  walk  like  man." 

"He  was  dressed  up."  said  Dick.  "That  is 
the  only  thing  in  which  he  resembles  one  of  your 
blessed  old  medicine-men.  At  first  —  when  we 
first  saw  signs  of  him  —  he  wore  those  silly,  round, 
pot-lid  snow-shoes  ail  the  time ;  but  now  he  puts 
on  his  bear-skin  when  he  wants  to  take  a  rise 
out  of  us.  And  I  don't  believe  he  really  owns 
that  skin,  either  —  I  believe  it  belongs  to  us. 
Do  you  remember  the  bear  you  found  ir  the  dead- 
fall, without  any  hide  on  him?  " 

"  You  dam  smart  feller,  Dick,"  returned  Sam, 
"  so  maybe  you  tell  me  what  dat  b'ar  an'  dat 
painter  hunt  together  for,  just  like  two  partners, 
if  dey  be  nothin'  but  one  ordin'ry  man  an'  one 
ordin'ry  painter,  an'  don't  have  no  a'mighty  strong 
magic  to  help  'em?  " 


'01 


^'l** 
'!;*•• 


I: 


I,. 


120    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

Dick  was  puzzled  by  the  question,  though  he 
tried  not  to  show  it.  "  That  was  just  a  coinci- 
dence." he  said.  "The  panther  just  happened 
to  be  there,  and  was  interested  in  you  on  his  own 
account." 

Sober  Sam  snorted.  "  Den  why  didn't  he 
hunt  dat  other  feller.?-de  man  hke  a  b'ar  -an' 
leave  me  alone.?  Tell  me  dat,  will  you?  You 
a'mighty  smart  feller.  Dick,  but  you  all  wrong 
now.  Dat  painter  an'  dat  ol'  b'ar  be  partners,  an' 
have  mighty  strong  magic  in  'em,  too.  De  b'ar 
has,    anyhow." 

"  Don't  worry  about  the  magic!  "  cried  Dick 
"  You  talk  like  a  child !  That  is  a  man.  I  tell  you' 
and  the  other  thing  is  a  panther.  They  may  be 
partners,  for  aU  I  know;  but  a  bullet  would  let 
the  magic  out  of  either  of  them.  It  is  a  pity  that 
you  were  so  frightened.  If  your  head  was  not 
so  fi  11  of  those  cock-and-bull  stories  we  might 
be  skmnmg  that  panther  now.  I  wish  I  h  ad  been 
there.  I  rather  think  I  should  have  made  them 
both  hop  a  bit." 

"  Like  you  done  to  dat  bull  moose."  returned 
Sam,  quietly. 

"Oh!   I  made  him  hop,"  laughed  Dick. 

A  smile  flickered  across  the  old  trapper's  dusky 


^OJL^^^J^Ljf^ 


SOBER  SAM'S  ADVEXTURE  121 

face  —  just  flickered  and  was  gone  in  a  second. 
"Joke  mighty  fine  t'ing  at  right  time,"  he  said, 
"  but  dis  ain't  right  time,  I  guess.    All  right  for  to 
say  how  you  made  dat  painter  and  dat  other  t'ing 
hop,  maybe,  when  you  shoot  at  'em;   but  all  de 
time  we  get  robbed  of  pelts  an'  traps  an'  grub. 
If  dey  not  any  kinder  medicine-man,  an'  you  not 
scart  of  'em,  Dick,  you  best  go  out  pretty  quick 
an'  make  'em  hop  clean  out  of  dis  here  country 
—  o     you    an'    me    '11    'rave    to   hop    out    our- 
selves." 

"Of  course  I  will  go  after  them."  said  Dick. 

"  But  I  think  we'd  better  hunt  them  together. 

My  ankle  is  not  quite  in  shape  for  a  hard  tramp 

yet;   but  as  soon  as  it  is  I'll  get  after  that  chap 

who  is  trying  to  frighten  us  away.     I'U  find  his 

tracks  and  follow  them  right  to  headquarters." 

"  Dat  a'right,  Dick.     You  can't  chase  'em  out 

a  minute  too  quick  to  suit  me,"  replied  Sam. 

"  Never  knowed  afore  how  it  felt  like  to  be  real 

scart.     Don't  like  it,  neither.     Guess  we  got  to 

shift  camp,  Dick,  'less  dat  ol'  b'ar  dat  laugh  like  a 

man  shif  first." 

For  all  Dick's  big  talk,  he  did  not  sleep  very 
soundly  that  night.  As  for  poor  Sam,  he  did  not 
even  pretend  to  sleep  but  sat  bolt  upright  in  his 


1 


122    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

bunk  until  morning,  with  all  his  clothes  on  and 
his  rifle  ready.     At  the  first  break  of  dawn  he 
left  his  bunk  and  went  to  the  window.     More 
snow  had  fallen  during  the  night,  and  slow,  broad 
flakes  were   still  circUng  down.     By  this  time 
Dick  had  fallen  into  a  heavy  sleep ;  so  Sam  moved 
noiseless  about,  trying  to  divert  his  mind  with 
house-work.     He  started  a  roaring  fire  on  the 
hearth,  folded  the  blankets  in  his  bunk,  trimmed 
the  wick  of  the  lantern  and  put  an  extra  polish 
on  the  tin  plates  and  mugs.     He  knew,  all  the 
time,  that  what  he  really  should  do  was  go  down 
to  the  hole  at  the  edge  of  the  po-     with  axe  and 
bucket,  and  get  water.    He  put  on  his  moccasins 
and  once  even  got  so. far  as  to  withdraw  the  bolt 
of  the  door  —  but  then  fear  of  that  bulky  medi- 
cine-man overcame  him.     The  arguments  of  his 
companion  had  rolled  off  his  superstitious  mind 
as  drops  of  water  roll  off  the  wings  of  a  loon.    He 
had  seen  a  bear  and  a  panther  hunting  in  com- 
pany! —  and  if  that  is  not  a  sign  and  a  proof  of 
black,  potent  magic,  what  is?     The  sky  bright- 
ened to  pale  grey;    and  still  he  could  not  quite 
make  up  his  mind  to  leave  the  shack.    But  water 
was  required .    At  last  he  went  over  to  Dick's  bunk 
and  laid  his  hand  on  the  youth's  shoulder.    Dick 


SOBER  SAM'S  ADVENTURE  123 

jumped  up,  quick  as  thought,  and  grabbed  hini  by 
the  throat. 

"  Hi!    You  quit!  "  yelled  Sam. 

Then  Dick  opened  his  eyes,  stared  vaguely 
around,  and  blushed  at  last.  "I  beg  pardon, 
Sam,"  he  stammered,  "  but  it's  your  own  fault. 
I  was  dreaming  about  that  beastly  medicine-man 
of  yours.  He  was  making  for  me,  on  his  hind  legs 
—  and  when  he  got  me  by  the  shoulder  with  one 
paw  I  went  for  his  throat." 

"  So  you  scart  too,"  said  Sam. 

"  Not  on  your  life!  "  exclaimed  Dick. 

"  Den  you  go  get  some  water,"  returned  the  old 
tribesman. 


Iff  I 

ml 


CHAPTER  X 

TRAPPERS'  LUCK.   THE  MOOSE  -  YARD.   THE  BULL- 
MOOSE  AND  THE  PANTHER 

The  trappers  did  not  go  far  a-field  on  the  day 
following  Sober  Sam's  ner\'e-shattering  adventure. 
The  old  woodsman,  who  had  faced  a  thousand 
risks  of  flood  and  forest,  frost  and  hunger,  during 
his  long  and  hard  hfe  in  the  wilds  of  the  north, 
seemed  actuaUy  weakened  by  his  experience  of  the 
previous  evening.     He  looked  ill  and  jumped  at 
every  sound.    Dick  tried  to  laugh  him  out  of  his 
fears;    but  laughter  proved  to  be  as  useless  as 
argument.    So  he  told  the  old  man  that  he  needed 
a  rest  —  that  the  hard  run  had  knocked  him  out. 
At  last  Sam  consented  to  retire  to  his  bunk  and 
be  waited  upon.    Dick  got  in  the  day's  and  night's 
supply  of  wood,  brought  water  up  from  the  hole 
in  the  ice  of  the  pond,  and  did  all  the  cooking. 
Between  these  jobs  he  worked  at  such  pelts  as 
required  handling  and  tried  to  cheer  Sam  with 
stories  of  his  nld  home  in  England  and  of  his  life 
at  school.    He  tramped  around  the  shack  half  a 

124 


TRAPPERS'   LUCK 


125 


dozen  times  and  twice  went  for  a  considerable 
distance  into  the  woods,  but  failed  to  discover 
any  trace  of  the  mysterious  poachers.  By  the 
time  supper  was  ready  Sam's  spirits  were  im- 
proved. This  was  partly  owing  to  Dick's  stories, 
no  doubt,  but  mostly  to  the  fact  that  the  terrible 
pursuers  had  not  ventured  to  follow  him  all  the 
way  to  the  shack.  So  he  ate  his  supper  with  some- 
thing like  his  old  appetite,  and  afterwards  smoked 
his  pipe  and  told  some  amusircj  tales  of  his  own 
past. 

The  night  passed  without  alarm.  Sam  was 
still  feeling  a  trifle  "jumpy"  in  the  morning, 
so  Dick  went  out  alone  to  attend  to  the  nearer 
traps.  He  promised  not  to  go  far  or  be  absent 
long.  He  took  the  westward  line,  and  as  his  old 
trail  was  hidden  he  I>ad  to  move  slowly.  He  was 
not  yet  an  expert  woodsman  and  found  a  good  deal 
of  difficulty  in  detecting  his  landmarks.  One  tree 
looked  very  much  like  another  to  him.  But  here 
and  there  he  had  "  blazed  "  the  way  with  an  axe, 
and  so  managed  to  find  the  whereabouts  of  the 
traps  without  much  loss  of  time.  The  first  trap 
was  empty;  the  second  contained  a  lynx,  frozen 
as  stiff  as  wood ;  and  in  the  ^hird  he  found  that 
which  sent  his  blood  racing  madly  through  his 


126    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


veins.  It  was  a  fox  —  a  big  fox,  in  perfect  con- 
dition —  and  its  fur  was  as  black  as  night.  In 
other  words,  it  was  the  prize  of  which  northern 
trappers  dream  and  tell  wonderful  stories  —  a 
black  fox.  Dick  trembled  with  excitement  as  he 
freed  the  dead  body  from  the  jaws  of  the  trap; 
and  then,  without  waiting  to  reset  the  trap,  he 
turned  and  started  foj  the  shack,  eager  to  let 
Sam  know  of  this  stroke  of  good  fortune. 

The  sight  of  that  fox,  the  pelt  of  which  might 
bring  them  :a\y  sum  from  three  hundred  to  seven 
hundred  dollars,  went  a  long  way  toward  bringing 
Sober  Sam  to  himself.  In  the  northern  wilderness 
—  or  in  some  parts  of  it,  at  least  —  the  taking 
of  a  black  fox  is  supposed  to  mean  more  good  luck 
than  just  the  sum  of  money  it  may  represent. 
Sam  believed  this  firmly  and  so  felt  that  the 
Fates  were  taking  a  hand  in  the  game  and  meant  to 
play  against  the  bad  medicine-man  that  had  been 
bothering  him  of  latf  He  clapped  Dick  on  the 
back  and  called  him  a  mighty  trapper,  embraced 
the  stifT  and  unconscious  fox  and  then  set  about 
depriving  it  of  its  valuable  coat  in  the  most 
scientific  manner.  "  Dick,  we  done  fine  job 
a'ready,"  he  said  as  he  worked  over  the  fox. 
"  I  see  plenty  catches  for  whole  season  not  so 


TRAPPERS'   LUCK 


127 


good  as  we  got  a'ready.  Some  bar,  some  lynx, 
some  bob-cat,  six  sable,  ten  ermine,  plenty  mink, 
plenty  red  fox,  two  patch  an'  one  black  fox. 
A'mighty  big  money  we  make,  Dick,  if  we  get  him 
all  out  safe  in  de  spring-time.  Guess  we  stay  in 
dis  country  'till  we  get  kicked  right  out." 

Dick  was  delighted  to  see  the  change  in  his 
companion.  He  remained  in  the  shack  imtil 
after  dinner  and  then  set  out  again,  to  do  a  couple 
of  hours  of  trap-tending.  He  struck  westward 
again,  to  take  up  the  same  line  where  he  had  left 
off.  Making  a  short  cut,  he  passed  through  some 
country  that  was  entirely  new  to  him.  In  a  forest 
of  thick,  mixed  timber,  situated  not  more  than  a 
mile  and  a  half  from  the  shack,  he  came  upon  a 
well  beaten  trail  that  cut  deep  into  the  snow. 
A  glance  told  him  that  it  had  been  made  by  moose. 
He  followed  it  for  fifty  yards  and  found  that  an- 
other trail  of  the  same  kind  crossed  it  at  a  slant ; 
and,  still  following,  he  soon  came  to  a  place  where 
a  dozen  or  more  deep-pitted  trails  crossed  and 
recrossed  each  other,  and  where,  here  and  there, 
great  patches  of  snow  had  been  beaten  down  as 
smooth  as  the  surface  of  a  winter  hauling-road  —  in 
other  words,  not  much  smoother  than  a  ploughed 
field.     It  was  a  moose-yard  of  large  proportions, 


128    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

and  the  first  he  had  seen.  He  noticed  vhai  the 
lower  branches  of  the  trees  in  and  around  the 
centre  of  the  yard  had  been  stepped  of  every  twig, 
and  this  explained  to  him  the  absence  of  the 
moose.  He  crawled  into  a  thicket  of  bushy 
young  firs,  to  wait  and  watch,  hoping  to  see  the 
owners  of  the  yard  and  learn  something  of  their 
habits.  Also,  he  was  interested  in  fresh  moose - 
meat;  but  he  did  not  intend  to  scatter  the  herd 
or  family  that  made  up  the  yard  by  shooting  any 
member  of  it  in  the  immediate  vicinity.  He 
would  study  them,  and  look  them  over,  if  he  got 
the  chance;  and  in  a  day  or  so  he  would  lie  in 
ambush  on  one  of  the  outer  trails. 

Twenty  minutes  passed  before  Dick  was  re- 
warded for  his  patience  by  any  sign  of  the  great 
animals.  At  last  he  heard  a  sound  that  s --ggested 
the  walking  of  a  heavy  man,  shod  with  hard  boots, 
on  the  packed  snow.  A  big  cow  appeared,  walked 
slowly  around  one  of  the  beaten  patches,  sniffed 
the  snow  here  and  there  and  the  stubby  branches 
from  which  the  twigs  had  been  torn,  and  then  lay 
down  with  a  grunt.  She  had  evidently  fed  well 
in  the  outlying  pastures  of  the  forest.  A  yoimg 
bull  soon  came  into  sight  — a  yearling,  by  its 
size  and  appearance.    It  seemed  to  be  in  a  frolic- 


n^ 


TRAPPERS'    LUCK 


129 


some  mood,  pranced  awkwardly  about  for  a  full 
minute  and  then  raced  away.  Dick  waited  a 
little  while  longer,  hoping  for  further  develop- 
ments. Nothing  more  came  to  the  centre  of  the 
yard,  however,  and  the  intense  cold  began  to 
gnaw  at  his  motionless  limbs;  so  he  started  to 
work  his  way,  backwards,  out  of  the  thicket. 
At  the  V  ?ry  first  movement  that  he  made  the  big 
cow  came  up  on  her  feet  like  a  flash  and  turned 
her  great  head  and  small  black  eyes  on  the  thicket. 
It  seemed  to  Dick  that  those  little,  glistening 
eyes  had  a  dangerous  look  in  them.  He  had 
heard  many  conflicting  stories  concerning  the 
natures  and  habits  of  the  moose  —  some  depicting 
it  as  a  mild  and  timid  creature  and  others  as  a 
very  devil  of  ferocity  —  and  as  he  had  no  first- 
hand knowledge  to  go  by  he  decided  to  judge  this 
big  ccw  by  appearances  and  act  accordingly. 
So,  feeling  that  appearances  and  circtunstances 
now  called  for  absolute  inaction  (until  the  moose 
showed  her  hand,  so  to  speak),  he  lay  perfectly 
still.  It  was  quHe  evident  that  her  glittering 
gaze  did  not  detect  him  among  the  thick  branches, 
and  as  there  was  not  a  breath  of  wind  he  hoped 
that  she  would  not  get  his  scent.  His  position 
was  very  uncomfortable;   but  he  was  afraid  to 


130    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


I 


move  a  finger.  His  rifle  was  still  in  its  woollen 
case,  and  he  knew  that  if  he  tried  to  get  it  out  she 
would  be  upon  him  before  he  could  take  aim 
and  fire  —  unless  her  looks  greatly  belied  her 
nature.  Her  great  hoofs  fascinated  him.  He 
had  heard  on  good  authority  that  a  moose's 
favourite  manner  of  fighting  is  with  the  fore- 
hoofs  —  and  even  now  she  was  pawing  the  snow 
briskly  with  one  of  them.  How  long  he  might  have 
lain  there,  holding  his  breath  and  suffering  from 
cold  and  cramp,  it  is  hard  to  say,  if  an  unexpected 
diversion  had  not  taken  place. 

A  crashing  and  trampling  of  bushes  and  a 
swishing  of  branches  sounded  in  front  and  to  the 
left,  and  into  the  open,  across  it  and  into  the 
woods  beyond  dashed  a  big  bull-moose.  His  great 
head,  with  its  weight  of  wide  antlers,  was  thrown 
far  back,  and  his  small  eyes  fairly  glowed  with 
a  comingling  of  terror  and  the  fighting-light. 
Across  his  high  shoulders,  close  to  the  base  of  the 
black  neck,  clung  a  panther.  At  this  sight  the 
cow  snorted  and  cantered  away,  and  Dick  burst 
from  the  thicket  and  followed  the  trail  of  the  bull 
at  his  best  speed,  snatching  his  rifle  from  its  case 
as  he  ran.  It  was  not  the  bull  that  he  was  after 
but  the  big  panther,  for  he  saw  in  it  one  of  his 


ACROSS    HIS    Hir.H    SHori.llKRS,   CI.OSK   TO   THE    ItASE   (JF   THF. 
lil.AlK    \K(  K.  I'l.tNr;   A    PANTHER."' 


\k  i 


U 

t-i 


't/rm' 


=m  „_._ 


TRAPPERS'   LUCK  131 

enemies -one  of  the  two  creatures  that  had 
given  poor  old  Sober  Sam  such  a  bad  time.    Also 
the  hold  that  the  panther  had  on  the  moose  did 
not  appeal  to  his  ideas  of  clean  sport.    He  found 
httle  difficulty  in  keeping  to  the  right  trail  where 
It  crossed  and  foUowed  many  others,  for  slender 
sprayings  of  blood  stained  the  snow  at  frequent 
intervals.    It  was  quite  evident  that  the  panther 
was  holding  on  with  both  his  fangs  and  his  claws. 
Dick  pushed  along  at  his  best  pace,  and  owing 
to  the  fact  that  the  moose  did  not  run  in  a  straight 
hne  but  circled  often  and  dashed  through  every 
wall  of  close  timber  it  could  find,  in  the  hope  of 
scraping  the  panther  off  its  back,  he  soon  had 
It  m  sight.     It  was  some  time,  however,  and  the 
the  big  buU  was  running  more  weakly,  before  he 
got  a  chance  to  shoot.     It  was  not  much  of  a 
chance,  either,   and  he  was  so  puffed  that  his 
hands    were    shaking.      Halting,    and    dropping 
quickly  on  one  knee,  he  brought  the  sights  hastily 
and  shakily  in  line  against  the  body  of  the  clinging 
panther  an.   :   essed  the  trigger.    To  his  constema- 
tion  the  moose  plunged  forward  on  bent  knees 
staggered  up,  and  again  fell.    The  panther  loosed 
its  hold  on  the  mangled  neck  and  leapt  lightly 
away.      Dick   sent   two   quick   but    futile    shots 


mm 


k: 


^t? 


132     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

wMppii.L'   into  the  underbrush  after  it.      Then, 
seeing  the  sfjlendid  bull  struggling  in  the  snow, 
he  advanced  a  few  paces,  t*  )ok  steady  aim  and  put 
it  out       i^^^  s.i.fering.    Here  was  a  fine  bul   moose 
to  his  ivi",    l)'i  he  felt  no  satisfaction,  f  -  it  was  the 
panth.  r  he  hac:  set  his  heart  uptm.    He  knew  that 
it  wcu'i  i.f.    I   vain  thing  to  try  to   follow  the 
panther;   so  1  f  set  t    work  to  do  wliat  he  cotdd, 
single-h  .nded,    with   the   carcass   of    .he   moose. 
It  was  a  heavy  jo-,  and  not  one  that  he  liked  — 
a  regular  butcher's  task,  in  fact.    As  he  had  not 
brought  an  axe  he   had  only  his  heavy  sheath- 
knife  to  work  with.     He  was  tailing  away  like  a 
beaver,  but  had  very  little  to  show  for  his  ■  xer- 
tion,  when  he  suddenlv  rfalize*;  ihat  the  sun  was 
unpleasantl>-    close    to    the   black    ndges   of   the 
western  hills.      Leaving   the   cnrcass  to  take   its 
chances  with  the  f(  .raiders  of  the  mght,  he  turned 
and  started  back  al  ng  the  trail  he  had  -nine. 
It  was  not  a  straight  tiail.  but  it  was  sale      He 
had  no  mind  to  attempt  a  short-cut  to  the 
in  the  failing  light  and  unfamiliar  country 
On  arriving  at   the  shack,   Dick  lost  n 
about  telliriL,'   of  his   adventure    to  Sober 
Sam  was  (h-eply  impressed      "  Dat  painter     ait 
his  meat  an'  run  when  you     red.?  "  he  asked. 


ack, 

lime 
■^am. 


TRA1*PERS    LICK 


133 


"You  may  bet  your  hat  on  that,"  replied  Dick. 
*'  He  not  tnly  ran  but  he  kept  (  .  running.  I  sent 
two  nrif  re  hots  after  him  to  let  lim  ki  ow  I  was 
still  busy.  But  I  wish  I  had  plugged  him  instead 
of  the  mt)Os  ■  " 

"  Dat  T-ijrh\"  c  ]r  ,he  old  mai.,  nodding  his 
heat:  "  MooF^-n,  .ti  mighty  good,  if  not  too 
touph;  bu  ean  h<  .^r  to  kill  dat  ds  i  painter! 
An'      'U  lothi'  '  of  dat  o  critter 

-  dat  UiK 

"N      a  s;  plied       ck.     "Perhaps  they 

A'ere         itir.,     together   and   when   the    panther 

iiot  "   oard  the  moose  the  other  was  'eft  behind. 

\i\  T  am  glad  I  didn't  meet  hii     -ffter  the 

the    ght  got  bad." 

hiess  we  want  dat  moose-mt  ;        -?  ^d  Sam, 
a         JL  1   inute's  reflection.    "  Need  i.  r  moc- 

CL  -ns,   .    o.     Guess  we  get  supper  qi  n'  go 

c.ct  him  up  an'  tote  home  as  much  as  we  can. 
Hitch  de  rest  up  in  tree,  so  fox  can't  get  'im. 
Lrtiess  we  do  it,  Dick,  an'  risk  bad  magic.  You 
pretty  brave  feller,  an'  dat  make  me  brave  —  an' 
1  ^niess  maybe  dat  laughin'  b'ar  long  ways  off." 

Right  you  are,"  replied  Dick,  with  a  quick 
and  questioning  glance  at  his  companion.  "  I'm 
game  for  it,  if  you  are ;  and  I  am  very  glad  to  see 


M  \i 


•s   ■ 


134    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

that  you  are  feeling  better  about  this  magic  busi- 
ness. But  what  is  it,  Sam,  that  has  steadied  your 
nerve?  " 

"  Guess  dat  magic  ain't  fust  class,  after  all," 
replied  Sam.  "  If  it  was,  Dick,  guess  we'd  not  be 
cettin'  here  now,  so  a 'mighty  comfor'ble." 

They  ate  their  supper  quickly  and  then  set  out. 
Though  there  was  no  moon,  the  sky  was  clear 
and  the  frosty  stars  filled  the  open  spaces  of  the 
wilderness  with  a  thin,  uncertain  light.  They 
advanced  swiftly  along  the  track  which  Dick  had 
made  earlier  in  the  day.  Each  carried  his  rifle 
uncased  in  his  hand,  and  they  did  not  exchange 
a  word  until  they  reached  the  outer  trails  of  the 
moose-yard.  Here  they  halted  for  a  moment  and 
Sam  asked  if  they  were  anywhere  near  the  carcass. 

"  The  centre  of  the  yard  is  only  a  couple  of 
hundred  feet  ahead,"  replied  Dick,  in  a  whisper, 
"  and  the  dead  bull  is  on  the  other  side  —  not 
far,  perhaps,  but  at  the  end  of  a  confoundedly 
crooked   trail." 

^^  "Guess    we    better    go    'round,"    said    Sam. 
"  Don't  want  to  scar  de  moose  what's  left." 

They  pressed  forward  slowly,  breaking  their 
way  through  new  snow  and  twisted  thickets,  going 
as  quietly  as  they  could  for  fear  of  starting  any 


TRAPPERS'   luVCK 


135 


moose  that  might  be  resting  in  the  middle  of  the 
yard.  Sober  Sam  was  in  the  lead,  crawHng  on  all- 
fours  in  the  imderbrush,  and  Dick  was  close  upon 
the  tails  of  his  racquets,  when  something  big 
and  black  suddenly  heaved  up  in  front  of  them, 
snorted,  and  then  dashed  away  through  the  forest. 
Sam  came  to  his  feet  with  a  gasp  and  stimibled 
back  upon  Dick. 

"  By  t'under! "  he  exclaimed.  And  then, 
steadying  himself  and  chuckling  shortly,  "  Dat 
moose,  I  guess.  T'ought  'im  somethin'  else  for 
one     dnute." 

They  moved  on  and  in  about  fifteen  minutes 
came  to  the  carcass  of  the  big  bull.  A  fox  had 
helped  himself  to  a  few  bites,  but  it  was  quite 
evident  that  the  panther  had  not  returned  to  it. 
Under  Sober  Sam's  leadership  the  head  and  hide 
v;ere  soon  off.  They  tied  the  head  in  the  branches 
of  a  poplar,  well  out  of  the  reach  of  any  animal 
save  a  good  climber.  Then  they  cut  the  carcass 
into  hunks  and  joints  of  convenient  sizes  and 
made  two  packs  of  as  much  of  it  as  they  could 
carry  on  their  backs.  They  spent  considerably 
more  than  an  hour  at  this  work.  After  a  short 
rest  they  shouldered  their  loads  and  started  for 
home. 


U- 


1 1 


136    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

Dick  soon  found  that  he  had  all  he  could  do 
to  keep  the  old  trapper  in  sight,  though  the  other 
carried  the  heavier  pack.  Sometimes,  in  the  little 
natural  clearings  that  dot  the  deeps  of  the  forest 
like  air-holes,  he  shortened  the  distance  between 
them  by  breaking  into  a  run.  But  Sam  shuffled 
along  at  an  unvarying  pace,  keeping  a  cautious 
lookout  to  the  front  and  right  and  left,  but  never 
glancing  back. 

As  they  came  to  the  edge  of  the  tiny  clearing 
in  front  of  the  shack  Sam  halted  suddenly  and 
stood  motionless.  He  could  not  see  the  window, 
but  on  the  snow  lay  a  yellow  square  of  lantern 
light.    Dick  saw  it,  too. 

"  Guess  he  t'ink  we  stay  out  all  night,"  whis- 
pered Sam. 

Next  moment  the  light  on  the  snow  vanished, 
the  door  opened  and  a  black,  bulky  figure  ap- 
peared, running  across  the  open.  In  a  second  it 
was  gone,  and  the  two  trappers  stood  gaping,  with 
their  rifles  in  their  handi.. 

"  WTiy  you  don't  shoot.?  "  asked  Sam. 

"  Why  didn't  you.?  "  retorted  Dick. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE    THEFT   OF   THE    PRECIOUS    SKIN.       SOBER   SAM 
COMES  TO  GRIEF.      THE  KNIFE  AND  ITS  OWNER 

**  It  was  the  bear!  The  man  who  plays  he's  a 
bear!  And  he  has  fooled  us  again!"  exclaimed 
Dick,  in  a  voice  of  disgust. 

"Why  you  don't  shoot  quick?"  cried  Sam, 
again. 

'■  Don't  talk  like  an  ass,"  returned  Dick.  "  You 
were  in  front,  why  didn't  you  shoot?  Hang  it  all, 
Sam,  we're  both  duffers." 

"  Guess  so,"  said  Sam.  "  Guess  we  ain't  spry 
'nough  for  dat  b'ar." 

They  moved  forward;    and  just  ls   Sam  was 

about  to  enter  the  open  door,  out  of  the  blackness 

within  sprang  a  long  grey  shape.    It  passed  them 

quick  as  a  flash;   they  heard  an  angry,  spitting 

snarl,  but  before  a  rifle  was  raised  the  thing  had 

vanished  in  the  woods.     Then  they  both  began 

pumping  nickel-coated  bullets  into  the  darkness, 

wildly,   blindly   and    furiously.      Each   fired   six 

shots,   quick  as  magazine  and  trigger  could  be 

137 


A    '■- 
I    < 


f    ( 

i     I 


138    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

worked;  then  they  faced  each  other  in  mute 
disgust.  Sober  Sam  was  the  first  to  break  the 
painful  silence  that  had  followed  the  crackling  of 
the  rifles. 

"  We  two  darn  fools,"  he  cried.  "  We  let  'em 
both  go!  Dick,  you  kick  me  an'  me  kick  you." 
"  We  both  deserve  it,"  returned  Dick,  mourn- 
fully, "but  I  don't  think  kicking  each  other  will 
do  any  good.  It  won't  hurt  the  panther  and  his 
partner,  anyway  —  and  those  are  the  things  we 
want  to  hurt.  Suppose  we  step  in  and  see  what 
damage  they  have  done." 

They  entered  the  shack  and  felt  their  way  to 
the  bench  on  which  the  lantern  stood.  The  glass 
of  the  lantern  was  still  warm.  Sam  raised  it, 
struck  a  match  and  touched  it  to  the  wick.  The 
yellow  flame  rose  slowly,  casting  a  dusky  illu- 
mination around  the  interior  of  the  shack.  It 
displayed  an  untidy  scene.  Provisions  were 
scattered  about  and  the  pelts  lay  here  and  there 
and  everywhere  on  floor  and  bunks.  The  two 
trappers  began  to  search  anxiously  to  discover  the 
amount  of  their  loss. 

"  Bacum's  gone!  — de  very  last  of  it!"  ex- 
claimed Sam, 

"  We  have  plenty  of  meat.     The  country  is 


THEFT  OF  PRECIOUS  SKIN  139 

full  of  it,"  snapped  Dick.     "  But  count  over  the 
skins,  we  can't  afford  to  lose  our  winter's  work." 

"  Floiu-  a'right,"  said  Sam.  "  But  one  packet 
tea  gone,  I  guess.  Yes,  dat  right!  Dam  his 
hide!  "  He  ran  to  his  bunk  and  felt  beneath  the 
blankets.  "  Baccy  a'right,"  he  cried  joyfully. 
"  He  didn  t  find  my  baccy  anyhow." 

"  The  devil  take  your  baccy!  "  exclaimed  Dick. 
"  Look  at  the  skins."  Presently  Dick  asked  in 
a  low  and  shaking  voice,  "  Do  you  see  the  black 
fox  anjrwhere,  Sam?  " 

"  De  black  fox,"  repeated  Sam,  with  a  huskiness 
in  his  torxe.  "  De  black  fox,  Dick?  Ain't  he  on 
the  wall  where  I  put  'im?  No!  Ain't  he  in  de 
corner,  wid  dem  other  skins?  " 

"  Can't  find  it,"  returned  the  other,  trying  to 
speak  unconcernedly,  "  can't  find  it  anywhere. 
All  the  others  seem  to  be  here  —  but  I  can't  find 
that  black  fox." 

They  turned  over  all  the  pelts,  great  and  small, 
dry,  half-dry  and  green.  They  worked  feverishly, 
in  anxious  silence.  They  pulled  the  blankets  from 
the  bunks  and  the  spruce  boughs  from  under  the 
blankets.  They  searched  among  the  provisions, 
and  again  went  over  all  the  furs.  They  counted 
the  skins  backward  and  forward,  stacking  them 


u 


«;t) 


140    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

separately  according  to  their  several  kinds.  They 
found  everything  —  everything  but  that  precious 
black  ski .  that  was  worth  more  than  aU  the  others 
put  together. 

"  It  is  gone!  He  has  taken  the  black  fox!  " 
exclaimed  Dick,  bitterly.  Sober  Sam's  emotions 
were  such  that  his  tongue  could  find  no  words 
for  their  expression.  Uttering  untranslatable 
grunts  and  snorts  he  dashed  the  unoffending 
peltries  about  the  cabin.  But  that  did  no  good. 
The  skin  of  the  black  fox  —  the  skin  worth  many 
dollars  was  gone! 

At  last  the  two  barred  the  door  and  retired  to 
their  bunks,  vowing  that  they  would  strike  hard 
and  fearlessly  on  the  morrow  to  regain  their 
stolen  property,  no  matter  how  strong  the  magic 
of  the  robbers  might  be.  The  last  words  spoken 
by  the  old  tribesman  were,  "  If  you  hadn't  been 
so  dam  slow,  wid  yer  rifle,  Dick,  we  still  have 
dat  fox." 

Dick's  reply  was  an  angry  snort.  Then  they 
both  fell  asleep.  They  awoke  eariy,  lit  the  fire  and 
the  lantern,  and  filled  the  tea  kettle  with  water. 
Dick  put  the  frying-pan  to  warm  and  cut  several 
slices  of  moose  meat.  Sam  took  his  axe  from  the 
comer  and  went  out  to  cut  some  dry  wood,  for 


THEFT  OF  PRECIOUS  SKIN  141 


the  supply  in  the  shack  was  low.  The  first  faint 
lights  of  dawn  were  showing  in  the  east,  and  in  the 
west  and  middle  sky  the  stars  were  still  glinttng. 
The  air  was  bitterly  cold  —  thirty  degrees  >v 

zero  perhaps  —  but  there  was  no  wind.  .:>(  jr 
Sam  pulled  the  door  shut  behind  him  with  a  bang 
(for  the  loss  of  the  black  fox  was  still  rankhng 
in  his  heart),  slipped  his  feet  into  the  thongs  of  his 
snow-shoes  and  entered  the  wood  at  a  point  where 
several  dead  spruce  trees,  felled  a  few  days  before, 
lay  prone  in  the  snow.  He  was  feeling  so  vicious 
about  the  theft  that  he  began  to  slash  the  branches 
from  the  prostrate  spruces  with  an  air  of  wreaking 
his  vengeance  upon  them.  He  slashed  viciously, 
carelessly,  the  bright  sharp  blade  severing  a  great 
bough  from  the  trunk  at  every  blow.  Having 
cleared  away  all  the  branches  that  were  in  con- 
venient reach,  he  slipped  his  feet  from  his  racquets 
and  stepped  up  on  to  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  Now  he 
stopped  and  slashed  downward,  still  with  a  full- 
arm  swing  for  every  stroke.  Now  he  severed  a 
branch  on  the  right,  and  now  on  the  left,  and 
after  every  second  blow  he  advanced  a  step  along 
the  prostrate  trunk.  He  worked  skilfully,  though 
his  mind  was  not  on  the  task.  He  was  still  think- 
ing angrily  of  the  theft  of  the  black  fox  skin;  so 


142    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


^  i 


m\ 


he  did  not  handle  the  axe  with  the  care  that  is 
usual  with  all  experienced  woodsmen.    At  last  he 
shook  himself  clear,  for  a  moment,  of  his  sullen 
thoughts,  and  a  glance  showed  him  that  he  had 
knocked  off  enough  of  the  smaller  wood  and  must 
now  apply  his  energy  to  the  trunk  of  the  tree.    He 
was  about  to  step  down  on  to  his  waiting  racquets 
and  select  another  position  from  which  to  work, 
when  the  loss  of  the  fox  skin  again  came  to  his 
mind.     He  paused,  standing  on  the  great  trunk, 
going  over  again  and  again  a  plan  of  unearthing 
the  thief  and  recovering  the  valuable  pelt.     His 
eye  selected  a  branch  that  might  just  as  well  be 
cut  as  not,  standing  out  just  below  his  feet;  but 
his  mind  was  otherwhere.    He  gave  the  axe  a  half- 
swing,  holding  it  only  with  his  right  hand.     It 
flashed    downward,    straight    as    falling-stone  — 
but,  when  within  a  few  inches  of  its  mark,  a  spray 
of  dry,  unnoticed  twigs  turned  the  bright  blade 
inward. 

Sober  Sam  let  a  sharp  yelp  out  of  him  —  and 
the  bright  warm  blood  sprang  out  on  the  brown 
tree  trunk  and  dripped  into  the  white  sno^  The 
lower  edge  of  the  keen  blade  was  imbedded  r?  the 
wood,  Lhe  upper  edge  in  the  outside  of  Sam's 
right  foot,  midway  between  the  ankle  and  the 


THEFT  OF  PRECIOUS  SKIN  143 

little  toe.  With  a  twist  of  the  wrist  —  and  an 
equally  violent  twist  of  the  mouth,  the  old  trapper 
freed  the  axe  from  its  hold.  For  a  second  or  two 
he  stood  and  gazed  down  at  the  blood-stained 
moccasin.  Then,  "  Darn  everythii^,"  he  mut- 
tered, "  Dam  me  for  one  a 'mighty  fool!  "  Pull- 
ing off  his  blanket  jacket  he  stooped  and  muffled 
the  wounded  foot  in  it.  Then  he  limped  along 
the  trunk  and  sat  down  among  the  branches  that 
still  bristled  about  the  top  of  it.  "  Dick !  Dick !  " 
he  shouted,  "  turn  out,  I'm  cut.  Come  quick  and 
gimme  a  hand!  "  He  kept  up  his  shouting  till 
Dick  appeared  on  the  scene. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  Sober  Sam  lay  in  his  bunk, 
the  cut  foot  bound  tightly  with  bandages  made 
recklessly  of  two  of  Dick's  shirts.  No  large  artery 
had  been  severed,  so  this  dressing  kept  the  flow 
of  blood  under  control.  But  the  old  man  was 
helpless,  as  far  as  moving  was  concerned.  The  cut 
was  a  deep  one,  and  under  such  treatment  as 
Dick  was  able  to  administer  it  was  difficult  to  say 
how  long  it  might  take  to  heal.  Both  the  trappers 
were  depressed  by  the  accident,  for  here  was  a 
blow  to  their  plan  of  tracking  down  the  thief  of 
the  fox  skin.  Dick  could  not  even  set  out  on  the 
hunt  alone,  for  it  would  be  days,  at  least,  before 


11  i 


II 


144    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

Sam  could  put  his  foot  to  the  ground  or  even  let 
it  swing  unsupported.  So  they  ate  their  break- 
fast in  a  heavy  silence. 

After  breakfast  had  been  eaten,  and  the  tin 
mugs  and  plates  washed,  Dick  got  ready  to  go  out. 
He  heapeu  an  armful  of  wood  on  the  fire  —  the 
last  of  the  supply  in  the  shack. 

"  Now  I'll  go  and  finish  your  job,"  he  said. 

Sam's  foot  and  leg  were  aching  sharply,  but  he 
managed  a  twisted  smile.  "  Don't  finish  in  de 
way  I  done,"  he  said,  "  we  be  in  darn  bad  fix  an' 
no  mistake,  if  you  get  cut  too." 

Dick  worked  slowly  and  with  caution  for  about 
an  hour,  and  not  once  in  that  time  did  he  allow  his 
mind  to  wander  from  the  blrtde  of  his  axe.  When 
a  supply  for  several  days  was  cut  and  stored, 
some  of  it  in  the  shack  and  some  beside  the  door, 
he  laid  his  axe  away  and  took  up  his  rifle.  That 
action  did  not  escape  Sober  Sam's  quick  brown 
eyes. 

"  What  you  t'ink  you  do  now,  Dick?  "  he  in- 
quired anxiously. 

"Oh,  I  am  not  going  far,"  replied  Dick.  "I 
want  to  take  a  look  round,  that's  all.  I'll  be  back 
in  an  hour,  Sam,  so  don't  worry.  You'll  be  right 
enough  with  your  pipe  and  tobacco  handy." 


i. 


THEFT  OF  PRECIOUS  SKIN  145 

•'  Yougoin'  on  de  b'ar's  trail,  I  guess,  an'  leave 
me  here  all  by  my  lonesome  —  an'  may  be  not 
come  back  at  all,  if  dat  man-b'ar  or  dat  painter 
gets  you,"  said  Sam  mournfully.  "  Dat  ain't 
right,  Dick.     Dat   darn  mean  way  for   you   to 

act." 

"  I  tell  you,  I  won't  go  more  than  half  a  mile 
from  the  shack,"  replied  Dick.  "  I  just  want  to 
have  a  look  at  that  fellow's  tracks,  and  at  the 
panther's  too.    I'll  be  back  soon." 

"  Well,  you  gimme  my  gun  afore  you  go,"  said 
Sam.  It  was  quite  evident  that  he  was  again 
suffering  from  nerves. 

Dick  followed  the  tracks  that  led  from  the  door 
of  the  shack,  —  and  for  about  half  a  mile  they 
were  the  tracks  of  the  hind  feet  of  a  big  bear. 
From  there  they  became  the  imprints  of  the 
round,  solid  snow-shoes  that  had  caught  his  at- 
tention earlier  in  the  winter;  so  no  doubt  re- 
mained in  his  mind  that  the  robber  of  their  first 
trap  and  tl  ■  man  who  pretended  to  be  a  bear 
were  one  and  the  same  individual.  The  man  in 
the  primitive  snow-shoes  had,  beyonr!  a  doubt, 
been  the  guilty  party  in  the  robbery  of  Sober 
Sam's  dead-fall,  and  had  since  amused  himself 
by  wearing  the  skin,  head,  paws  and  all,  and 


.idA'\fiL'^ 


146    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

striking  terror  into  the  heart  of  the  old  trapper. 
Beside  the  tracks  of  the  round  racquets  ran  the 
trail  of  the  panther's  pads;  and  the  relationship 
of  the  man  and  the  panther  puzzled  Dick.  Could 
it  be  that  tl.e  big  cat  was  a  pet  of  the  man's 
and  trained  by  him  to  hunt  for  the  common  pot 
and  to  take  part  in  the  game  of  intimidation? 
The  tracks  led  up  the  left  hand  shore  of  the  lake, 
and  Dick  had  followed  for  more  than  a  mile  before 
he  suddenly  remembered  his  promise  to  Sober 
Sam  to  be  back  soon.    He  turned  reluctantly. 

Dick  had  not  covered  more  than  a  hundred 
yards  of  the  back  trail  when  something  in  the 
snow  just  in  front  of  him  caught  his  eye.  It  was 
dark  and  narrow,  and  only  two  or  three  inches 
of  it  stood  above  the  trampled  white  surface. 
He  stooped  and  picked  it  up  —  and  found  it  to  be 
a  long,  straight  knife,  with  a  haft  of  heavy  black 
wood  that  he  did  not  know  the  name  of.  The 
blade  was  slender,  and  very  sharp,  and  showed 
signs  of  having  been  ground  many  times.  The 
name  of  the  maker  had  been  worn  completely 
away.  On  the  haft  a  design  was  cut  which  he 
could  not  make  out  at  first;  but,  after  cleaning 
it  with  snow,  he  saw  that  it  was  intended  to  rep- 
resent a  ship.    The  design  was  roughly  cut.    On 


THEFT  OF  PRECIOUS  SKI  \  147 


the  other  side  of  the  haft  he  found  the  t  -ilowing 
inscription:  —  "  J.  Banks,  T)osun." 

"  A  sailor."  said  Dick.  *'  Now  I  wonder  if  this 
thief  in  the  bear's  skin  is  an  old  sea-faring  man? 
What  would  bring  —  or  drive  —  a  sailor  into 
this  couKi.y  and  set  him  at  these  tricks?  " 

As  he  had  no  sheath  for  the  knife  and  it  was 
far  too  sharp  to  put  in  his  pocket  with  safety, 
he  continued  on  his  homeward  journey  with  it 
in  his  left  hand.  He  was  within  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  of  the  shack  when  something  —  a  sudden 
thrill  of  menace  —  caused  him  to  glance  quickly 
over  his  shoulder.  And  there,  in  the  trail  behind 
him  and  not  more  than  a  hundred  yards  away, 
he  beheld  a  Xh-nv  that,  for  a  moment,  filled  him 
with  unreason,  n-  j  a  it  It  was  the  thief  -  the 
subject  of  Sobe.-  -;.i)i'::  /ears  and  his  own  '<■.  ^'e- 
cision  and  man>  ct^.ijcctures  —  a  figi'.rj  nnir.ing 
wildly  on  uncouth  round  racquets,  a  ;_,.vaL  bear 
skin  flapping  about  it,  the  man's  head  uncovered 
and  the  empty  mask  of  the  bear  flapping  on  its 
shoulder.  The  man's  head  —  its  head  —  was 
thatched  with  a  mass  of  long,  tangled  grey  hair, 
and  the  face  was  over-grown  to  the  very  eyes  with 
tangled  whiskers.  It  waved  its  arms  as  it  ran 
—  and  the  arms  and  hands  were  encased  in  the 


if 


I'l: 


!\^ 


148    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

skin  and  paws  of  the  bear.  It  ran  fast  and  with 
no  attempt  at  concealment.  So  wild  and  terrific 
did  it  look  —  leaping  along,  half  man  and  half 
beast  —  that  Dick  sprang  away,  uttering  a  low 
cry.  But  the  panic  passed  in  a  second  and  he 
halted  and  turned.  The  wild  man  in  the  flapping 
bear  skin  was  close  upon  him  now,  crying,  "  My 
knife!  My  knife!"  in  a  voice  as  harsh  as  the 
scream  of  a  wild  beast. 

Dick  managed  to  stand  steady,  though  his  legs 
twinged  to  be  gone.  In  the  eyes  of  the  strange 
creature  approaching  him  he  saw  the  light  of 
madness.  He  flung  the  knife  toward  it,  then 
raised  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder.  It  uttered  a  chuck- 
ling laugh  at  sight  of  the  knife  flashing  and  turn- 
ing in  the  air ;  and  the  instant  the  weapon  touched 
the  snow  it  snatched  it  up. 


n  + 


%m 


A   LOST    CHANCE. 


CHAPTER  XII 

DICK   WORKS    HARD. 
LYNX 


THE    TWO 


The  wild  man  —  or  whatever  he  was  —  re- 
covered his  lost,  knife  and  sprang  into  the  under- 
brush. Dick  shouted  after  him,  feeling  that  now 
was  the  time  to  bring  him  to  book  in  the  matter  of 
the  stolen  fox  skin;  but  the  time  was  already 
gone.  He  might  as  well  have  shouted  to  the  wind 
to  halt  as  to  that  mad  and  fleeing  monster  on  the 
round  snow-shoes.  Should  he  have  fired,  he  won- 
dered. No,  he  could  not  have  done  that,  for  the 
fellow  was  a  human  and  had  faced  the  rifle  un- 
armed. 

Dick  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then,  without  a 
thought  for  Sober  Sam,  and  his  promise  of  an 
early  rettim,  he  forced  a  passage  of  the  under- 
brush on  the  track  of  the  owner  of  the  knife.  He 
was  eager  to  get  his  hand  on  the  fellow  and  come 
to  an  imderstanding  concerning  the  skin  of  the 
black  fox,  no  matter  by  what  violent  method. 

He  was  angry  with  himself,  now,  for  having  ai- 

149 


150    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


H 


II.  I 
it    i 


lowed  his  nerves  to  flinch  and  cause  him  to  throw 
the  knife.  He  shovdd  have  kept  hold  of  the  knife 
until  its  reckless  owner  was  within  his  reach ;  then 
he  should  have  let  it  fall  at  his  feet  and  sprung 
upon  the  other  as  he  stooped  to  pick  it  up.  Oh, 
yes!  now  that  it  was  too  late  he  could  see  quite 
clearly  exactly  what  he  should  have  done. 

Dick  pressed  along  on  the  trail  of  the  round 
snow-shoes  as  fast  as  the  tangled  forest  permitted. 
In  some  places  he  was  forced  to  plunge  blindly 
through  thickets  of  young,  snow-weighted  firs  and 
spruces,  with  his  left  ami  across  his  face  to  protect 
his  eyes  from  the  switching  branches.  In  other 
places  he  found  a  clear  path  between  the  trunks 
of  the  tall  umber.  But,  though  he  could  not  see 
his  quarry,  he  felt  that  he  was  losing  ground  every 
minute;  for  the  crashing  of  the  other's  flight 
through  the  bush  grew  fainter  and  fainter  and 
at  last  died  away  entirely.  After  twenty  minutes 
of  this  traly  stern  chase  Dick  halted,  thoroughly 
winded. 

"  It's  no  go.  I  missed  my  chance, "  he  muttered, 
after  a  few  minutes  spent  in  gasping  and  puffing. 
p[e  turned  in  his  tracks  and  started  back  along 
the  way  he  had  come  at  such  a  killing  pace. 
Now  he  moved  slowly ;  and  suddenly  he  saw  that 


A   LOST   CHANCE 


151 


which  caused  him  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  for  the 
rest  of  his  journey.  Crossing  the  trail  ran  the 
track  of  the  panther!  This  imwelcome  discovery 
halted  him;  but  the  beast  was  nowhere  in  sight. 

Dick  found  Sober  Sam  awaiting  him  in  a  state 
of  fretftd  anxiety.  "  What  kep'  you  so  long?  " 
asked  the  old  man.  "  I  t'ink  maybe  dat  poacher 
get  you,  Dick,  or  de  big  painter  jump  on  you  — 
an'  what  happen  to  me  den,  I'd  like  to  know." 

Dick  laughed.  "Oh,  I  am  fit  as  a  fiddle,"  he 
said,  **  and  ready  to  get  dinner.  But  I  must 
admit,  Sam,  that  I  quite  forgot  my  promise  to 
htury  home.  I  saw  some  things  that  fairly  drove 
it  out  of  my  mind." 

"  What  you  see,  Dick^  You  see  dat  t'ief,  maybe  ? 
—  an'  try  to  catch  'im?  "  As  Dick  cooked  the 
dinner  he  told  Sam  of  the  knife,  of  the  design  and 
the  name  on  the  haft  of  it,  of  the  wild  man's  ap- 
pear ace  and  of  the  futile  chase.  Also,  he  told 
of  the  panther's  tracks  across  the  trail. 

"  Why  you  don't  shoot  dat  t'ief  when  he  come 
runnin'  fore  you?  "  asked  the  old  trapper,  in  tones 
of  disgust.  "  You  ought  to  plug  'im  dat  minute 
chock-f\ill  of  bullets  -  den  we  don't  have  no  more 
trouble  wid  him  at  all." 

"  But  he  is  a  man  —  and  he  hadn't  any  sort 


152    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


^i 


M 


l\H 


of  weapon  in  his  hand,"  expostulated  Dick. 
"  And  he  ran  straight  after  me,  without  trying  to 
hide,  yelling  for  his  knife." 

"  You  ought  to  give  him  de  knife  —  smack  be- 
tween de  ribs.  You  ain't  got  much  sense,  Dick. 
You  too  dam  a'mighty  soft.  He  took  our  fox 
skin,  worth  hundreds  an'  hundreds  of  dollars,  an' 
plenty  good  grub,  an'  he  scare  us  both  bad  as  he 
can  to  make  us  quit  dis  country  —  so  you  had 
ought  to  kill  'im,  Dick.  You  won't  get  good 
chance  like  dat,  any  more  maybe." 

"  If  I'd  killed  the  poor  mad  devil  —  yes,  I  think 
he's  all  wrong  in  his  brain  —  perhaps  we  should 
never  be  able  to  find  the  fox  skin,"  replied  Dick 
"  No  doubt  he  has  it  hidden  in  some  tight  little 
place  where  we'd  not  find  it  if  we  searched  a  year. 
The  panther  could  not  tell  us  where  it  was  hidden, 
even  if  he  wanted  to.  Anyway,  I  didn't  shoot 
him  or  knife  him,  —  and  I'm  mighty  glad  I 
didn't.  If  he  had  been  trying  to  get  a  shot  at 
me,  or  hifling  in  the  bushes  t<>  jump  out  at  me, 
I'd  have  let  him  have  a  bullet  and  welcome  But 
he  wasn't  hiding  and  he  wasn't  armed.  1  believe 
that  knife  is  tlie  only  weapon  he  possesses  —  and 
that  is  what  he  was  after.  He  dropped  it  last 
night  I  suppost\     But  I  should  have  got  hold  of 


A  LOST   CHANCE 


153 


him  and  knocked  him  about  a  bit  until  he  told 
me  something  about  that  fox  skin  and  promised 
to  leave  our  shack  and  otir  traps  alone  in  future. 
Yes,  that  is  what  I  should  have  done." 

"  Oh,  yes!  "  retorted  Sam,  with  a  thin  smile, 
"  Dat's  what  you  had  ought  to  done,  Dick,  you 
bet.  He  let  you  knock  'im  about,  I  guess,  a'right, 
an'  tell  you  what  you  ax  'im.  But  maybe  not. 
Maybe  he  knock  you  instead.    I  dunno." 

"  Would  you  have  shot  the  poor,  crazy,  un- 
armed devil?  "  asked  Dick,  flushing  vmder  the  old 
red-man's  dry  jeers. 

"You  bet,"  returned  the  other,  promptly  — 
"  'less  I  happen  to  be  too  scart  to  get  my  gun 
up  —  like  you  was  maybe.  Yes,  you  bet  I  shoot 
dat  mean  t'ief.  Am't  he  stole  our  grub  an'  our 
pelts  an'  our  fin*'  black  fox  skin?  Ain't  he  scart 
me  most  outer  my  life?  —  and  ain't  he  set  his 
big  painter  aft^ .   us?  " 

"  But  I've  read  that  it  is  one  of  the  customs 
of  your  race,  Sam,  to  protect  crazy  people  and 
to  put  up  with  all  manner  of  inconvenience  from 
them  without  punishing  them,"  said  Dick. 

"  Dat  a'right,"  replied  Sam.  "  You  read  heap 
line  t'lr^s  in  btx^ks  I  guess.  But  how  I  know  dat 
fellow  crazy  ?     Who  tell  me  —  what  ?     He  just 


154    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

play  crazy,  I  guess,  so  we  won't  hurt  'im.  Well, 
I  shoot  him,  anyhow  —  an'  ax  him  after  dat  if 
he  crazy  or  not." 

During  the  week  following  Sam's  accident  and 
Dick's  adventure  with  the  mysterious  man  in  the 
bear's  skin,  nothing  more  was  seen  or  heard  of 
either  the  thief  or  his  big,  green-eyed  partner. 
Sam's  cut  foot  pained  him  sharply  for  many  hours 
at  a  time,  in  spite  of  the  complete  rest  which  he 
took  and  of  Dick's  unfailing  attentions.  No  doubt 
the  bone  was  bruised.  As  for  poor  Dick,  he  had 
to  do  what  he  could  toward  attending  to  the  traps 
as  well  as  looking  after  his  companion,  the  cooking 
and  the  fire- wood.  Every  day  he  worked  from 
before  dawn  until  many  hours  after  dark;  for, 
though  he  gradually  reduced  the  number  of  his 
traps  in  commission  by  hanging  them  in  the  trees, 
his  luck  in  taking  fox,  lynx  and  mink  seemed  to 
improve  steadily.  After  a  hard  day  in  the  open, 
capped  with  a  hearty  supper  of  moose-meat,  boiled 
rice  and  tea,  he  would  work  with  the  skins  until 
he  fell  asleep  at  the  task.  But  this  grind  did  not 
hurt  him.  His  muscles  grew  and  hardened,  his 
chest  expanded  and  his  skill  with  snow-shoes, 
axe  and  knife  increased  amazingly. 

Sunday  came  and  it  was  indeed  a  day  of  rest  for 


ds-ii.-. 


A   LOST   CHANCE 


155 


Dick,  for  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  carry  in  a 
little  wood  and  water,  cook  and  attend  to  his 
companion.  The  two  spent  most  of  the  day  in 
talking  —  and  most  of  the  talk  concerned  the 
unknown  thief  and  his  partner  the  big  panther. 
By  this  time,  all  fear  of  magic  in  connection  with 
these  two  had  left  Sober  Sam's  mind.  The  case 
was  decidedly  unusual,  he  admitted,  but  did  not 
smack  of  big  medicine.  A  wild  man  of  the  wood 
strangely  disguised  in  a  stolen  bear  skin  and 
wearing  rotnd,  hide-filled  racquets,  and  a  trained 
panther  —  and  there  it  was  in  a  nutshell. 

"  Soon  as  I  get  round  agin,  we'll  cook  their 
dough  for  'em,"  said  Sam.  But  Dick  had  another 
thought  in  his  mind  —  of  which  he  said  nothing. 
He  saw  no  reason  (or,  at  least,  nothing  but  a 
coward's  reason)  for  delaying  the  hunt  for  the 
thief  until  the  healing  of  the  old  man's  foot. 
The  precious  fox  skin  might  be  ruined  by  the  time 
it  was  recovered,  if  they  waited  so  long.  Or  the 
wild  man  might  leave  the  country,  taking  the 
secret  of  his  hiding-place  and  the  priceless  pelt 
along  with  him.  He  felt  sure  that  the  man  was 
crazy ;  and  the  actions  of  a  crazy  man  are  not  to 
be  depended  upon,  even  in  the  northern  wilder- 
ness.   And  Dick  believed  himself  to  be  quite  f'nna.l 


'-<. 


156    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

to  the  task  of  dealing  with  that  fur-clad  idiot 
single-handed.  The  unknown  one  possessed  no 
firearms.  Of  that  he  felt  certain.  And  he  was  not 
afraid  of  the  panther,  either.  In  the  case  of  that 
sly  beast,  he  would  keep  his  eyes  about  him  and 
shoot  at  sight.  In  the  case  of  the  man,  of  course, 
he  would  not  shoot  unless  he  absolutely  had  to 
for  the  sake  of  his  own  life.  It  was  Sober  Sam's 
belief  that  the  thief  had  his  headquarters  some- 
where on  or  near  Wigwam  Mountain,  which  tops 
the  height  of  land  between  Two-Fox  Pond  and 
Smoky  Pot  with  its  round,  rocky,  shaggy  cone. 
Dick  was  of  the  same  opinion. 

Dick  had  the  western  line  of  traps  to  see  to  on 
Monday,  so  he  decided  to  leave  the  expedition 
to  Wigwam  Mountain  until  Tuesday.  He  was 
astir  early  on  Monday  morning,  lit  the  fire,  got 
water  from  the  hole  in  the  lake  (which  always 
froze  over  to  a  thickness  of  two  or  three  irches 
during  the  night,  and  had  to  be  broken  with  an 
axe  every  morning),  and  cooked  >>reak:ast.  By 
this  time  —  thanks  to  the  thief  —  all  their  bacon 
and  salt  pork  were  gone.  Their  fiour  and  rice 
had  dwindled  to  something  very  near  the  vanishing 
point ;  but  tea  still  held  and  fresh  meat  was  to  be 
had  at  any  time.    As  soon  as  breakfast  was  ever 


A   LOST   CHANCE 


157 


Dick  put  a  few  slices  of  cold  meat  and  a  couple  of 
cakes  of  "  hard -tack  "  in  his  pocket,  blew  out  the 
lantern,  took  his  rifle  from  its  corner  and  opened 
the  door. 

"  Mind  de  painter,"  said  Sam.  "  If  you  get  a 
shot  at  either  of  'em,  let  'em  have  it.  But  don't  go 
lookin'  for  'em." 

"  Right  you  are,"  replied  Dick.  "  I'm  not 
looking  for  trouble  to-day." 

He  set  out  gaily,  striking  westward,  forgetting 
that  a  man  often  finds  what  he  is  not  looking  for. 

At  noon  Dick  halted  and  ate  the  cold  fare  from 
his  pocket.  In  the  traps  already  examined  he  had 
found  one  red  fox  and  nothing  more;  but,  as  he 
had  travelled  slowly  and  spent  much  time  in  re- 
setting and  altering  the  positions  of  the  traps 
the  line  was  not  exhausted.  He  did  not  build  a 
fire,  but  quenched  his  thirst  with  cold  tea  from  a 
flask.  The  air  was  quite  mild,  considering  the 
place  and  season  of  the  year  —  that  is,  one  could 
remove  a  mitten  and  leave  the  hand  bare  for 
several  minutes  without  serious  discomfort.  The 
sky  was  grey  instead  of  pale  blue,  and  the  small, 
colourless  sun  flooded  the  wilderness  with  a 
subdued  radiance.  The  only  sound  that  reached 
Dick's  ears  from  all  those  surrounding  miles  and 


158    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


'i| 


in  '1. 


miles  of  forest,  barren,  hill  and  valley  was  the 
sharp  rattle  of  the  hammering  of  a  woodj  ker  on 
the  stem  of  an  ancit^nt  1  mlock.  There  was  no  sij,'n 
of  animal  life  within  range  t)f  his  vision,  though 
the  spotless  dnits  and  k-xels  of  the  snow  were 
marked  here  and  there  with  the  fine  traceries 
of  wood-mouse  trails  and  the  big,  three-dotted 
tracks  of  the  white  hares.  And  there  ran  the  trail 
of  a  hunting-fox,  laid  the  night  before  —  and 
there  the  broad  padded  signature  of  a  lynx.  Dick 
loved  and  knew  that  wild,  snow-shrouded  country 
by  now,  and  the  vast  distances  and  silence  ^  of  it 
no  longer  weighed  upon  his  spirits  as  at  first. 
He  rested  for  a  few  minutes  after  having  finished 
his  simple  meal,  and  then  got  to  his  feet  and  went 
onward  about  his  business.  He  glanced  up  at  the 
sky  as  he  crossed  the  little  clearing  in  which  he 
had  lunched.  "There'll  be  snow  before  night," 
he  said. 

Dick  moved  quietly,  in  thick  covers  letting  the 
branches  between  which  he  passed  away  noise- 
lessly back  into  place.  He  had  no  especial  reason 
for  doing  so,  but  by  now  it  had  become  as  second- 
nature  to  him  to  make  no  more  sound,  when  in  the 
woods,  than  was  absolutely  necessary.  Down 
in  a  narrow  valley,  beside  a  smal!  snow-buried 


A   LOST    CHANCE 


159 


brook,  he  found  a  fine  specimen  of  mink  in  a 
home-made  trap  of  Sam's  setting.  He  cleared  this 
from  the  spiked  jaw  that  held  it,  thrust  it  head- 
downward  into  one  of  the  deep  pockets  of  his 
blanket  coat,  unanchored  the  trap  and  reset  it 
about  fifty  yards  further  up  the  stream.  Then, 
making  no  more  noise  than  a  cat  might  have, 
he  made  his  way  up  the  steep  bank  on  all  fours. 
His  head  was  just  above  the  edge  when  he  caught 
sight  of  something  that  halted  him  and  held  him 
motionless  as  wood.  In  front  of  him,  and  not 
more  than  twenty  feet  away,  something  was  going 
on  in  the  deep,  soft  snow  that  Dick  could  not  make 
out  for  several  seconds.  In  a  soundless  commo- 
tion and  a  fine  spray  of  the  frosty  powder,  two 
tawny,  yellow-grey  bodies  were  rolling  over  and 
over,  gripped  close.  Then  Dick  saw  that  these 
were  two  lynx  in  deadly  combat.  They  were 
fighting  with  fangs  and  claws,  and  at  one  moment 
one  was  on  top  and  at  the  next  moment  the  other. 
They  held  with  fore-claws  and  teeth  and  did  the 
pimishing  work  with  their  great  hind  legs,  which 
were  as  strong  as  steel  springs  and  shod  with  claws 
like  short,  keen  knife-blades.  The  best  position 
was  the  under  one,  for  it  gave  plenty  of  chance  to 
rip  the  belly  of  the  enemy.    It  is  not  to  be  won- 


'H 


^^ 


MMk 


&.. 


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(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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I.I 


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I- 


160    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

dered  at  that  the  positions  were  continually 
changing.  Patches  of  fur  began  to  fly.  Then 
Dick  raised  his  rifle,  for  he  did  not  like  to  see 
good  pelts  ruined.  Two  quick  shots  rang  out  — 
and  the  fight  was  ended  in  a  way  which  neither 
of  the  combatants  had  expected. 


Ut 


Iff 


i  n 


^SMS^SfrTi^^:^_ 


CHAPTER    XIII 

LOST.  NIGHT  IN  THE  SNOW  -  STORM.  A  GLIMPSE 
OF  A  SHADOWY  BUT  FAMILIAR  FORM.  A 
TIMELY   BREAKFAST 

Dick  had  fired  to  kill ;  and  both  lynx  lay  mo- 
tionless when  he  reached  them.  The  furs  were 
not  damaged,  save  in  a  few  spots  on  the  under 
sides,  so  Dick  stood  his  rifle  against  a  tree  and  set 
to  work  with  his  knife.  He  was  in  the  shelter 
of  a  wide  spreading  spruce,  and  it  was  not  until 
both  pelts  were  off  and  the  two  red,  sinewy  car- 
casses lay  naked  on  the  snow  that  he  noticed  that 
the  grey  sky  had  begun  to  shake  down  its  white 
flakes.  Still  the  air  was  quiet.  The  innumerable 
feathery  flakes  drifted  down  from  the  low  grey 
sky,  weaving  pale  curtains  on  every  hand  that 
hemmed  in  the  vision  as  surely  as  mist  or  dark- 
ness. A  soft,  rustling  whisper  almost  as  faint  as 
silence  itself  filled  the  air.  Dick  uttered  an  ex- 
clamation of  concern  at  the  sight  and  quickly 
made  a  pack  of  the  two  skins  and  snatched  up  his 

rifle.     The  snow  must  have  been  falling  for  ten 

161 


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11 

if' 


162    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

or  fifteen  minutes  before  he  noticed  it  jc  intent 
had  he  been  on  the  work  of  skinning  the  lynx),  for 
when  he  stepped  out  from  the  shelter  of  the  big 
spruce  he  found  the  tracks  of  his  racquets  already 
almost  obliterated.  He  fumbled  through  his  outer 
pockets  for  his  compass  —  then,  with  trembling 
hands,  through  the  pockets  of  the  woollen  *'  cardi- 
gan "  that  he  wore  under  his  blanket  coat.  He 
could  not  find  the  little  brass  compass  anywhere. 
He  had  lei    it  in  the  shack. 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  he  said,  "  I  think  I  can 
find  my  way  home  without  much  trouble."    But 
he  looked  far  from  confident  as  he  stepped  out  on 
the  faint  trail.    The  snow  continued  to  fall  and  the 
gloom  to  gather  closer  over  the  wilderness,  and 
the  young  trapper  had  not  retraced  more  than  a 
hundred  paces  of  the  way  before  his  old  trail  was 
entirely  hidden.    But  he  felt  that  he  knew  the  di- 
rection to  take  and,    trusting    to  that   feeling, 
pressed  onward.    The  crowding,  unswerving  flakes 
fell  so  thickly  that  he  could  not  see  further  than  a 
yard  or  two  in  front  of  him.    After  a  half-hour  of 
heavy  tramping  he  came  to  the  valley  of  a  stream 
that  was  unfamiliar  to  him.     He  examined   it 
carefully,   groping  about  and   seeking   for  some 
guiding  landmark,  and  was  forced  to  admit  that 


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LOST 


163 


he  had  gone  astray  from  the  right  course.  This 
stream,  however,  might  be  one  of  several  streams 
that  he  knew;  but  even  so,  what  did  that  possi- 
bility profit  him?  One  fair-sized  brook  ran  into 
Two-Fox  Pond ;  but  he  had  not  the  faintest  idea 
where  the  others  that  threaded  the  country  ran 
to.  A  chill  of  apprehension  —  a  twinge  of  fear 
of  that  vast,  trackless,  blinded  wilderness  — 
went  over  him  like  a  sudden  cold  wind. 

'*  Buck  up,"  he  exclaimed.  "  This  is  nothing 
to  fret  about,  I'll  be  right  enough  when  the  snow 
holds  up." 

He  decided  to  keep  to  the  stream,  thinking  that 
if  he  followed  it  down  the  chances  of  arriving  at 
some  familiar  spot  would  be  better  than  if  he 
simply  trailed  blindly  through  the  woods.  He 
spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in  deciding  on  the  slope 
of  the  land  —  the  direction  in  which  the  ice-bound, 
snow-buried  waters  were  running.  Still  the  snow 
fell  thickly  and  the  faint  light  gradually  lessened. 
Dick  tramped  along  the  winding  bed  of  the 
stream,  pausing  now  and  again  to  clear  the  cling- 
ing snow  from  his  head  and  shoulders  and  brush  it 
away  from  his  face.  In  some  places  great  trees 
overhung  him,  entirely  blanketing  what  little 
light  remained.     In  some  places  the  slope  of  the 


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164    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

valley  was  short  and  sharp,  and  he  knew  that  he 
was  passing  over  the  fettered  sinews  of  snarling 
water-falls.  At  last  he  came  out  on  a  level  place, 
and  the  suggestion  of  width  was  all  about  him. 
Beyond  a  doubt  it  was  a  lake  or  pond ;  but  of  its 
size  he  could  ascertain  nothing,  for  by  now  his 
vision  carried  no  more  than  a  yard  or  two. 

"  It  may  be  Two-Fox  Pond,"  he  rr uttered — 
"  and  again  it  may  not.  This  country  is  full  of 
ponds.  I've  done  enough  for  to-day,  however, 
so  I'll  just  get  back  into  the  bush  and  make  camp 
for  the  night.  If  the  snow  holds  uy  by  morning  I 
shall  be  right  as  wheat.  But  I  wish  I'd  put  a  trifle 
more  grub  in  my  pockets  before  leaving  the 
shack." 

Dick  turned  in  his  tracks,  groped  his  way  back 
to  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and  climbed  up  the 
low  bank  into  the  timber.  In  the  heart  of  a  thicket 
he  dug  a  trench  in  the  soft  snow,  roofed  one  end 
of  it  with  branches  torn  from  the  surrounding 
bush,  and  by  good  luck  found  several  dead  and 
iinder-dry  shiabs  close  at  hand.  He  started  a 
fire  with  this  dry  stufT  in  one  end  of  the  trench, 
and  by  the  red  light  he  tore,  and  cut  with  his 
knife,  a  siipply  of  heavier  wood.  After  this 
"  spell  "  of  hard  work  he  felt  hungrier  than  ever, 


'?!>  m^^i^mm^rms'^^^^^^^^^.fms^^m^ 


LOST 


165 


and  felt  anxiously  through  all  his  pockets;  but 
not  so  much  as  a  crumb  of  food  could  he  find. 
So,  resigned  to  the  discomfort  of  an  empty  stom- 
ach imtil  the  morrow,  when  daylight  might  enable 
him  to  shoot  a  hare  or  a  ruffed  grouse,  he  crawled 
under  his  poor  shelter.  In  the  yellow  light  of  the 
fire  the  descending  snow  looked  as  white  and  al- 
most as  substantial  as  a  water-fall.  Its  multi- 
tudinous flakes  hissed  and  vanished  in  the  orange 
flames. 

Dick  lay  in  his  retreat,  on  a  thin  bed  of  spruce 
boughs,  with  his  feet  toward  the  fire  and  his 
rifle  at  his  side.  He  was  tired  and  his  eyelids 
were  heavy.  Save  for  the  vacant  sensation  luider 
his  belt  he  felt  comfortable  enough  and  on  fairly 
good  terms  with  life.  The  fact  that  he  was  lost 
did  not  caus3  him  much  anxiety,  for  he  felt  sure 
that,  when  the  snow  ceased,  he  should  be  able 
to  identify  the  ^.osition  of  the  lake  in  front  of  him 
and,  with  the  sun  for  a  guide,  make  his  way  to 
Two-Fox  Pond  without  much  trouble.  But  he 
worried  a  little  about  Sober  Sam,  and  hoped  the 
old  man  would  be  able  to  feed  himself  during  his 
absence. 

Dick  was  about  to  surrender  himself  to  slumber 
when  he  espied  two  yellow-green,  steady  points 


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166    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

of  light  beyond  the  fire,  glowing  from  blackness 
above  the  far  end  of  the  trench.  He  had  seen  the 
same  baleful  signals  before,  across  a  former  camp- 
fire,  and  he  suspected  that  these  belonged  to  the 
same  bold  haunter  of  the  night.  He  raised  his 
rifle  cautiously,  brought  the  sights  in  line  a  well 
as  he  could  in  that  uncertain  light  and  .out 
shifting  his  position,  and  pressed  the  trigger ;  with 
the  crack  of  the  report  sounded  a  quick,  snarling 
yelp  — and  the  glowing  eyes  vanished.  He 
crawled  from  the  shelter,  and  passed  beyond  the 
fire.  The  snow  was  torn  at  the  edge  of  the  trench ; 
and  here  were  imprints  of  the  big,  familiar  pads ; 
and  here  was  a  small  dark  stain  —  yes,  a  drop 
or  two  of  blood  —  fast  vanishing  under  the  million 
fingers  of  the  storm.  Dick  turned  to  his  couch, 
placed  more  fuel  on  the  fire,  and  managed  to  keep 
his  eyes  open  for  another  hour.  Then  suddenly, 
without  warning,  he  drifted  into  the  land  of 
dreams. 

The  dull  ache  of  cold  awakened  Dick  just  at 
the  break  of  dawn.  He  sat  up  stiffly,  to  find  the 
fire  reduced  to  nothing  but  a  few  red  coals  in  a 
winding  sheet  of  grey  ashes  and  feathery  flakes, 
and  the  trench  half  tvH  of  snow.  The  air  was 
bitterly  cold,  but  still  and  clear.    The  storm  had 


I 


LOST 


367 


ceased  as  noiselessly  and  windlessly  is  it  had 
begun.  Day  was  lifting  a  glass-grey  lid  behind  the 
eastern  forests,  and  in  the  west  the  last  stars  were 
glinting  faintly.  Dick's  first  concern  was  for  the 
fire,  so  he  speedily  hustled  some  dry  wood  and  re- 
kindled it.  As  soon  as  it  was  crackling  cheerily 
he  allowed  his  mind  to  dwell  on  the  subject  of 
breakfast.  Oh  for  a  plump  grouse!  —  or  even  a 
sinewy  hare!  But  both  hare  and  grouse  must  be 
caught  before  eaten  —  and  seen  before  caught. 
With  a  sigh  Dick  left  the  warmth  of  the  trench  and, 
with  his  racquets  on  his  feet,  and  his  rifle  in  his 
hand,  scrambled  up  to  the  powdery  levels  of  the 
snow.  First  of  all,  he  descended  into  the  white 
valley  of  the  river  and  so  out  to  the  edge  of  the 
broad  white  shield  of  the  lake.  By  a  certain 
clump  r    ,  on  the  far  side  of  it,  and  a  level 

ridge  c>  '  ^.yond,  as  well  as  by  the  curves  of 

the  sho'-es,  he  recognized  the  lake  as  one  lying 
about  six  miles  to  the  westward  of  his  furthest 
line  of  traps.  He  had  visited  it  once  with  Sober 
Sam.  He  felt  relieved  to  know  that  an  oast- 
ward  course  would  bring  him,  after  a  few  hours  of 
travelling,  into  familiar  country.  But  still  the 
problem  of  food  remained  unsolved.  Not  a  sign 
of  life  was  to  be  seen  on  the  wide  surface  of  the 


168    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


ii 


I  I 


lake  or  about  the  surrounding  shores  —  or,  for  that 
matter,  in  the  gradually  brightening  sky  over- 
head. He  returned  to  the  wooded  bank  and  broke 
his  way  through  the  underbrush.  He  moved  with 
as  little  sovmd  and  disturbance  of  branches  as 
possible,  and  had  not  gone  far  before  he  found 
fresh  fox  tracks  cut  deep  in  the  snow.  He  foUowf  d 
this  trail,  suspecting  the  fox,  too,  of  looking  for 
breakfast.  Carefully  as  he  moved,  however,  he 
failed  to  catch  sight  of  the  fox ;  but  he  suddenly 
heard  word  of  that  sly  beast's  hunting.  A  rush 
and  whir  of  wings  in  front  told  him  that  a  grouse 
•  had  been  flushed  from  its  warm  retreat  under  the 
new-fallen  snow.  He  hurried  forward,  knowing 
enough  of  the  habits  of  the  northern  ruffed  grouse 
to  feel  pretty  certain  of  finding  the  bird  seated, 
spellbound  by  the  sense  of  danger,  in  some  tree 
close  at  hand.  He  saw  marks  in  the  snow  showing 
where  the  fox  had  pounced  and  missed  and  from 
where  the  grouse  had  risen ;  but  both  hunter  and 
hunted  had  vanished.  As  he  moved  to  the  left, 
scanning  the  trees,  two  more  birds  puffed  out  of  the 
snow  close  in  front  of  his  racquets  and  whirred  into 
the  nearest  tree.  The  they  sat  with  their  necks 
stretched  out  and  up,  motionless  as  if  carved 
from  wood;   and  as  he  raised  his  rifle,  he  caught 


LOST 


169 


sight  of  the  bird  which  the  fox  had  flushed  perched 
in  the  same  tree. 

Dick  was  a  good  shot,  and  he  stood  not  more 
than  fifteen  yards  from  the  spruce  in  which  the 
birds  had  taken  refuge.    He  took  careful  aim  at 
the  head  of  the  lowest  bird,  and  fired.    That  grouse 
fell  to  the  snow  and  the  others  continued  to  sit 
motionless.    Now  he  fired  at  the  head  of  the  next 
higher,   with   the  same   result.      His  third   shot 
carried  away  the  head  of  the  third  and  highest 
bird.    Had  he  killed  the  top  bird  first,  the  crash- 
ing of  its  body  among  the  branches  above  the 
others  would  have  set  them  on  the  wing  —  and 
the  bird  that  is  frightened  out  of  a  tree  usually 
iiies  a  long  way  before  pitching  or  alighting,  and 
if  it  pitches  on  the  groimd  it  usually  runs.    Dick 
picked    up   the    three   birds    and    saw   that    he 
had  taken  the  head  clean  off  each.     They  were 
plump,  for  the  wilderness  was  full,  that  winter, 
or  seeds  of  all  kinds.     He  examined  the  "  snow- 
shoes  "  of  the  dead  birds,  for  familiarity  could 
not  dull  his  interest  in  such  things.     The  toes 
of  grouse  were  outlined  on  both  sides,  with  short 
yello  /  fringes  that  were  m    unlike  the  flat  needles 
of  the  fir  and  spruce  in  shape.     These  made  a 
snow-shoe,  or  racquet,  of  each  foot,  enabling  the 


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170    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

birds  to  run  upon  the  surface  of  soft  snow.  These 
yellow  fringes,  or  whatever  you  choose  to  call 
them,  grow  upon  the  toes  of  the  ruffed  grouse 
every  autumn,  in  time  for  the  first  snow,  and 
drop  off  in  the  spring. 

Dick  thrust  the  plump  birds  into  his  pockets 
and  returned  to  the  fire.  There  he  drew^  and 
skinned  one  of  them  (skinning,  birds  is  quicker 
than  plucking  them,  and  is  the  woods  way),  and 
soon  had  it  broiling  over  a  bed  of  coals.  He  made 
a  good  breakfast,  took  his  bearings  and  struck 
out  for  Two-Fox  Pond,  with  two  grouse  in  his 
pockets  and  the  lynx  skins  on  his  back.  The  sun 
came  up  in  front,  bright  as  fire  and  colourless  as 
glass,  flooding  the  pale  dome  of  the  sky  with  cold 
radiance  and  flashing  a  million  glittering  rays 
and  stars  of  light  from  the  world's  winding-sheet. 
And  with  the  rising  of  the  sun  a  small,  keen  wind 
sprang  up,  that  darted  here  and  there  and  cut  the 
dry  snow  like  strokes  from  an  unseen  whip-lash. 
Dick  fotmd  the  cold  intense,  and  when  it  crossed 
his  path  in  the  open  places  of  the  forest  it  seemed 
to  snatch  the  very  brea^n  from  his  nostrils.  So 
he  travelled  as  fast  as  the  depth  and  lightness  of 
the  snow  allowed,  changed  his  rifle  frequently 
from  one  hand  to  the  other  and  contmually  beat 


•^Vk^' 


LOST 


171 


the  free  arm  across  his  breast.  He  kept  to  the 
heavy  timber  when  he  could,  for  in  the  shelter 
of  the  big  trees  the  cold  seemed  less  intense,  and 
his  eyes  escaped  the  white  glare  of  unshadowe-l 
sunlight  on  unshadowed  snow.  So  heavy  t  ,s 
the  going  that  an  hour  had  passed  from  the  f  »€ 
of  his  leaving  the  fire  before  he  reached  the  edge 
of  that  barren  across  which  he  and  Sam  had 
watched  the  timber-wolver  >n  the  trail  of  the 
stag.  He  was  tired  and  thirsty,  and  crouching  in 
+he  shelter  of  a  dense  thicket  he  rested  for  a  little 
while  and  tried  to  quench  his  thirst  with  snow. 
But  the  snow  did  not  give  any  real  and  lasting 
satisfaction,  and  made  his  tongue  and  throat 
feel  raw  and  sore.  Spurred  on  by  thoughts  of  the 
warm  shack  and  a  steaming  tea-kettle,  he  got 
to  his  feet  and  pressed  forward.  His  eyes  began 
to  ache  from  the  glare  of  the  new  snow,  end  so 
eager  was  he  to  reach  home  that  he  passed  'ho. 
spots  where  several  of  his  traps  were  j  withtmt 
taking  the  trouble  to  turn  aside  and  examine 
them.  He  was  in  familiar  country  now,  and 
struck  for  the  shack  by  the  shortest  route. 


■v., 'Jr.  ■ 


I  ■  ! 
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CHAPTER  XIV 

DICK  SETS  OUT  TO  CATCH  THE  THIEF.  HE  FINDS 
THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  ROUND  SNOW  -  SHOES. 
THE  TRAILER  TRAILED.  THE  ATTACK  AND  THE 
RESCUE 

Dick  found  Sober  Sam  in  a  bad  temper  and  a 
terrible  state  of  nerves ;  also,  the  poor  old  fellow's 
foot  was  paining  him  severely,  for  he  had  been 
hopping  about  the  shack  getting  food  for  himself. 
But  it  was  anxiety  for  Dick,  more  than  anything 
else,  that  had  upset  him. 

"I  t'ink  you  gone  for  good!"  he  cried,  by 
way  of  greeting.  "  T'ink  dat  painter  get  you, 
Dick.  Wliat  keep  you,  anyhow  —  an'  leave  me  all 
alone  with  dis  a'mighty  bad  foot?  " 

"  I  am  sorry,"  replied  Dick,  good-naturedly. 
"  I  lost  myself  in  the  storm,  and  made  camp  in  the 
snow.  Hadn't  much  luck  with  the  traps,  either. 
Got  a  fox  —  and  here  are  the  pelts  of  two  lynx  I 
shot  —  and  here  is  a  brace  of  partridges  for 
dinner." 

Sober  Sam's  face  cleared.    "  Dat  not  too  bad," 

172 


TO   CATCH    THE    THIEF      173 


he  admitted.  "  See  any  sign  of  dat  poacher  or  dat 
dam  painter?  " 

•'  Yes,  I  saw  the  painter.  He  came  sneaking 
round  my  fire,  and  I  took  a  shot  at  him.  I  drew 
blood,  too." 

"  You  nick  'im  an*  not  kill  'iui?  Dat  all-fired 
big  pity,  Dick.  He  hunt  you  now  all  de  time,  I 
guess.  He  try  like  'ell  now,  to  get  sqxiare  wid  you. 
Yes,  dat  right,  Dick.    You  needn't  laugh." 

"  Let  him  himt  me  as  much  as  he  wants  to," 
replied  Dick,  courageously.  He  was  drinking 
tea  now,  and  felt  equal  to  any  adventure.  "  The 
more  he  hunts  me,  and  the  nearer  he  comes  to  me, 
the  better  I'll  like  it.  Next  time  I  take  a  shot  at 
him  I'll  do  more  than  bring  a  drop  of  blood.  I 
want  that  panther  skin  —  for  a  trophy,  not  for 
trade." 

"  Dat  a'right.  Darn  good  talk,  dat!  I'm  go 
hunt  'em  both,  an'  get  our  black  fox  skin  back, 
soon  as  my  loot  get  well,"  returned  Sam. 

Dick  rested  most  of  the  afternoon,  doing  no 
work  beyond  cleaning  and  stretching  the  new 
skins.  All  his  muscles  ached,  for  he  had  caught 
cold  in  the  trench,  without  blankets  and  with  an 
insufficient  fire.  He  retired  early  to  his  bunk, 
and  awoke  in  the  morning,  feeling  stiff  and  sore 


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174     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

all  over.  It  was  not  until  two  days  later  that  he 
felt  himself  to  be  in  fit  condition  to  go  out  on  trail 
of  the  thief.  He  left  the  shack  at  an  early  hour, 
after  ha\ing  eaten  a  hearty  breakfast,  leaving  the 
impression  in  Sam's  mind  that  he  was  going  to 
make  the  round  of  one  of  the  lines  of  traps.  He 
carried  his  compass  this  time,  his  rifle  and  a  belt- 
axe,  a  small  tin  kettle,  and  a  good  store  of  hard- 
tack and  cold  meat  in  his  pockets.  The  dawn 
gave  promise  of  a  fine  day,  but  the  still  air  was 
fairly  tingling  with  frost.  But  the  stiffness  had 
left  Dick's  joints  by  this  time,  and  with  his  fur 
cap  pulled  low  across  his  forehead  and  about  his 
ears,  great  fur-lined  mittens  on  his  hands,  and 
body  and  Umbs  clothed  in  many  thicknesses  of 
wool,  he  defied  the  cold.  He  went  to  the  lake, 
where  the  surface  was  level  and  unobstructed  and 
the  snow  beaten  to  a  comparative  firmness  by  the 
wind  of  the  previous  day,  and  shaped  his  course 
toward  the  great,  lifeless  swamp  at  its  upper  end 
and  the  gloomy  cone  of  Wigwam  Mountain  beyond. 
He  kept  close  to  the  timber  of  the  western  shore. 
Dick  reached  the  upper  end  of  the  Two-Fox 
Pond  after  an  uneventful  half-hour,  and  at  the 
very  edge  of  the  swamp  he  found  what  he  was 
looking  for  —  the  trail  of  the  round  snow-shoes. 


TO   CATCH   THE    THIEF      176 


At  the  sight,  his  heart  began  to  hammer  with 
unusual  speed  and  force  —  for  this  is  an  adven- 
ture of  considerable  magnitude  that  he  has  under- 
taken. He  halted  and  gazed  cautiously  on  all 
sides.  He  examined  the  tracks  and  lound  that  the 
maker  of  them  had  simply  issued  from  the  swamp 
upon  the  edge  of  the  lake,  faced  about  and  re- 
entered the  thickets.  So  he  followed  the  return 
trail.  It  led  him  through  the  swamp  by  a  twist- 
ing, aimless-seeming  course,  over  all  manner  of 
drifted  tangles  and  fallen  trees  and  through 
switching  thickets.  He  looked  frequently  to 
right  and  left,  but  found  no  accompanying  panther 
tracks.  Following  the  marks  of  the  round  rac- 
quets, he  soon  came  to  the  higher  lard  and  bigger 
timber  which  Sober  Sam  had  once  described  to 
him.  Here  the  trail  could  be  followed  with  much 
less  effort  than  in  the  swamp.  It  led,  by  many 
curves  and  twists,  in  places  almost  doubling  on 
itself,  toward  Wigwam  Mountain. 

"  That's  where  he'll  be  found,"  said  Dick. 

From  this  point  Dick  became  so  intent  upon 
the  trail  and  the  direction  in  which  its  windings 
were  leading  him,  that  he  forgot  to  keep  a  sharp 
lookout  to  the  left  and  right  and  on  the  trees  over- 
head. 


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176    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

When  Dick  stood  on  the  margin  of  the  lake,  at 
the  edge  of  the  swamp,  examining  the  tracks  of 
the  snow-shoes,  he  was  being  watched  from  the 
depth  of  the  nearest  thicket  by  a  pair  of  pale, 
round  eyes  —  the  eyes  of  the  big  panther,  and  as 
he  forced  his  way  through  the  swamp,  along  the 
twisting  trail,  the  panther  moved  beside  him, 
not  more  than  thirty  feet  away,  slinking  with  its 
lean  belly  close  to  the  snow  and  his  round  head 
upraised.  Sometimes  it  crouched,  remaining 
motionless  until  he  had  passed  ten  or  twenty, 
ahead;  and  when  it  quickened  its  pace  to  keep 
up  with  him  it  limped  slight  1  v.  The  bullet  from 
his  rifle,  fired  at  the  flaming  eyes  beyond  the 
camp-fire,  had  nicked  its  left  fore-paw.  When 
Dick  reached  the  high  timber,  where  the  trees  and 
underbrush  stood  farther  apart  than  in  the  fast- 
nesses of  the  swamp,  the  panther  moved  deeper 
into  the  woods,  but  continued  to  keep  the  young 
man  in  sight.  At  last  the  panther  made  a  wide 
circle,  past  Dick,  and  drew  near  the  trail  of  the 
round  snow-shoes  ahead  of  him.  It  lay  quiet  for 
a  few  seconds  listening,  then  it  sprang  to  the  trunk 
of  a  great  pine,  clawed  its  way  swiftly  up  and 
into  the  branches.  Ore  branch,  lower  and  longer 
than  the  other,  reached  out  over  the  trail.    The 


inCK,   IIKEI.I.ESS   OF  TllK   lUNCKK  THAT    MSNACKD    HIM,   TRAMPED 
FORWAKH   ALONG   THE   TUAII.." 


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TO   CATCH   THE    THIEF      177 

panther  slipped  out  on  this  and  lay  crouched 
close,  motionless  as  a  part  of  the  tree  save  for 
an  occasional  quick,  eagei  twitching  of  its 
mighty  muscles  and  a  savage  trembling  of 
its  long  tail.  The  hunting-lust,  the  blood-lust, 
bu.ned  in  its  pale  eyes.  Its  hind  legs  were 
drawn  well  under  its  sinewy  body  and  its  broad 
fore-paws  clung  to  the  branch,  the  sharp  claws 
unsheathed  and  cutting  the  bark.  And  so  it 
waited. 

Dick,  heedless  of  the  danger  that  menaced  him, 
tramped  forward  along  the  trail  of  the  mysteri- 
ous thief,  eager  to  run  him  to  earth  and  confront 
him.  Here  the  white  forest  floor  began  to  slope 
upward  to  meet  the  steep  and  rugged  base  of  the 
mountain. 

"  I  may  be  coming  up  on  him  any  time  now," 
murmured  Dick,  glancing  keenly  to  right  and  left. 
He  saw  no  sign  of  the  object  of  his  search  among 
the  straight  tree-trunks.  He  moved  forward  a 
few  paces  more,  halted,  and  began  to  unfasten 
the  blanket  case  of  his  rifle. 

On  the  overhanging  branch  of  the  great  pine 
the  panther  cleared  his  claws  noiselessly  from 
the  rough  bark,  flattened  his  short  ears  and  looked 
down  over  one  great  forearm  with  red  lust  in  his 


178    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

round  eyes.     His  tail  slashed  from  side  to  side, 
his   muscles  twitched— and   then   he   dropped. 
He  struck  Dick's  shoulders  and  man  and  beast 
went    down.      Dick    screamed,  then    struggled 
blindly.     The  claws  of  the  panther  ripped  his 
stout  clothing  —  marked  the  skin  of  his  shoulders 
and  back  — struck  again  and  cut  the  flesh  in 
short  deep  furrows.    Twice  th'e  eager  jaws  snapped 
down  at  his  neck;  and  twice  they  were  met  by  the 
muzzle  of  the  rifle  and  thrust  back,  unsatisfied. 
Now  one  of  the  merciless  hind   feet  tore  him. 
Uttering  a  yell,  he  twisted  on  to  his  left  side  and 
began  to  fight  furiously  with  his  right  arm  and  the 
encased  rifle.    He  landed  a  half-arm  blow  across 
the  panther's  head  that  dazed  it  for  a  second  — 
but  only  for  a  second.     The  fierce  beast  did  not 
lose  its  hold  for  even  a  fraction  of  a  second.    Dick 
twisted  and  kicked  and  struck  blindly,  trying  to 
get  hold  of  his  belt-axe  with  his  left  hand ;   but 
he  was  already  weakening  with  loss  of  blood  and 
the  pain  of  his  wounds.     His  chances  of  surviving 
that  fight  were  of  the  slightest  when,  with  a  word- 
less  yell  that   set  the   woods  ringing,   a   figure 
pai-tially  wrapped  in  a  flapping  bear  skin  threw 
itself  upon  the  panther.    For  a  mad  minute  the 
three  rolled  together  in  the  snow,  kicking,  claw- 


TO   CATCH    THE    THIEF      179 


ing,   snarling,   and   shouting.     Then  a  spinning 
blackness  closed  over  Dick's  vision. 

When  Dick  next  opened  his  eyes  he  found  him- 
self lying  on  a  bed  of  spruce  branches  and  skins 
in  a  low-roofed,  gloomy  place  that  was  half  cabin, 
half  cave.  Such  light  as  there  was  entered  by  way 
of  an  irregular  opening  on  a  level  with  the  clay, 
brush-strewn  floor.  A  small  fire  of  peat-like  sub- 
stance burned  smokily  on  a  flat  stone  on  one  side 
of  the  apartment,  and  the  little  reek  of  it  filled 
the  air  under  the  low  roof.  Shaken  by  sensations 
of  alarm  and  amazement,  Dick  tried  to  raise  him- 
self to  an  upright  position;  but  sudden,  sharp 
pains  shot  through  his  back,  shoulders  and  legs, 
his  head  seemed  to  spin,  and  he  sank  back  again. 
For  several  minutes  he  lay  still,  with  his  eyes 
closed  and  his  heart  fluttering.  Again  opening 
his  eyes  he  studied  the  strange  retreat  to  which 
he  had  been  brought  so  mysteriously.  Save  for 
his  own  presence,  the  den  was  empty.  A  few 
skins,  imperfectly  cured,  and  a  number  of  white 
bones  lay  about  the  floor  —  and  at  sight  of  those 
bones,  by  some  swift  association  of  ideas,  Dick's 
mind  cleared  and  a  vision  of  the  big  panther  re- 
turned to  it.  Now  he  remembered  it  all  —  every 
incident   of   the  journey,   the   sudden  clutching 


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180    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

weight  of  the  panther  on  his  back,  the  furious 
hopeless  fight  and  the  providential  rescue  of  the 
wild  man  himself.    But  how  he  had  come  to  this 
primitive  retreat  he  had  not  the  faintest  notion. 
Could  it  be  that  the  mad  thief  had  not  only  saved 
him  from  death   at   the  claws  and  teeth  of  the 
panther,  but  had  also  carried  him,  unconscious, 
to  this  den  and  this  rough  couch,  and  dressed  his 
wounds?    So  it  seemed,  at  any  rate,  for  by  feeling 
up  and  around  with  his  left  hand  he  found  that  his 
back  and  shoulders  were  bandaged  in  strips  of 
ancient  blanket. 

"  But  why  should  he  have  saved  me.?  "  reflected 
Dick.     '•  The  panther  is  his  partner,  if  I  know 
anything  at  all  about  it,  and  I  am  a  stranger. 
After  scaring  me,  hunting  me,  and  robbing  me, 
what  could  have  got  into  his  >iead  to  take  the 
trouble  to  save  my  life  and  knock  the  panther 
about?     And   it   must   have  taken  considerable 
doing,  too,  from  what  I  know  of  that  panther." 
His  head  and  eyes  ached,  and  his  mouth  felt 
dry  and  hot.     Again  his  mind  began  to  cloud, 
and  all  manner  of  absurd  ideas  came  to  him.    Now 
he  thought  he  was  still  struggling  with  the  panther 
in  the  snow;   and  now  the  rescuer  came,  but  in 
the  person  of  Sober  Sam  instead  of  the  wild  man; 


V!fcW«Mr^ 


TO   CATCH    THE    THIEF       181 


and  now  he  was  lying  in  his  own  familiar  bunk 
in  the  shack  on  Two-Fox  Pond.  His  eyelids 
slipped  down  and  he  drifted  into  deep  but  uneasy 
slumber. 

When  Dick  awoke  it  was  to  behold  his  wild 
rescuer  and  host  kneeling  beside  his  couch.  The 
sight  was  a  truly  daunting  one,  more  especially 
to  a  man  weak  with  wounds  and  just  awakened 
from  an  unrefreshing  sleep.  The  young  man 
started  violently  and  uttered  a  low  cry.  The 
strange  creature  beside  him  grinned  a  broad, 
wild  but  reassuring  grin.  His  wild,  pale  grey  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  Dick's  face;  and,  after  the  first 
start  of  dismay,  Dick  returned  the  gaze  steadily. 

"  That's  one  ye  owe  me,  lad,"  said  the  wild  man, 
in  a  husky,  unused  sort  of  voice.  "  One  ye  owe 
me,"  he  repeated.  "Aye,  one  ye  owe  me."  He 
nodded  his  head  after  each  word. 

Dick's  fear  turned  to  astonishment.  So  this 
wild  creature  that  hunted  with  panther,  dressed 
in  uncured  furs,  robbed  traps  and  provisions, 
travelled  on  snow-shoes  of  solid  hide  or  bark  and 
lived  in  a  cave  could  talk!  This  seemed  an  as- 
tonishing thing  to  Dick. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick,  "  I  owe  my  Hfe  to  you." 
He  was  so  busy  examining  the  other's  appearance 


'■ 


182    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

that  he  could  think  of  nothing  else  to  say  just  then. 
His  host  no  longer  wore  the  great  bear  skin,  but 
his  inner  garments  were  not  much  more  elaborate. 
They  consisted  of  an  ill-shaped  jacket,  or  shirt,  of 
badly  sewn  and  dressed  fox  skins,  fur-side  out, 
laced  with  strips  of  raw-hide  from  waist  to  chin. 
This  garment  looked  as  if  it  had  never  been  taken 
off  since  it  was  first  laboriously  put  on.  His  legs 
were  encased  in  rough  trousers  made  of  mixed 
fox  and  lynx  skins,  the  bottoms  of  which  were 
thrust  into  the  tops  of  shapeless,  high-legged 
moccasins.  The  wild  man's  face  was  a  flowing 
tangle  of  grey  whiskers,  and  his  head  was  thatched 
with  a  superabundance  of  grey  hair. 

"  I  am  thirsty,"  said  Dick. 

The  other  lookt-d  puzzled  for  a  moment,  and 
shook  his  head.  Then,  "  Thirsty?  "  he  repeated. 
"Thirsty?     Don't  know." 

"  Dry,"  said  Dick. 

The  short  word  had  an  almost  magical  effect 
on  the  wild  man.  He  arose  from  his  squatting 
position  beside  the  bed  of  branches  and  skins 
and  stepped  over  to  the  fire  on  the  flat  stone. 
There  hung  a  rusty  kettle,  and  from  it  he  poured 
something  hot  into  a  roughly  carved  cup  of  wood. 
This  he  brought  to  Dick,  and  it  proved  to  be  tea 


TO   CATCH    THE    THIEF      183 


of  an  exceedingly  strong  brew,  Dick  began  to 
sip  it  slowly.  The  other  watched  him  for  a  few 
mon.'^nts,  with  a  puzzled,  baffled  expression  in 
his  e^  '}s.  Suddenly  he  shot  out  his  right  arm  and 
poked  Dick  in  the  middle  with  a  claw  like  finger. 
"  Belly?  "  he  inquired  hopefuUy.  "  Belly?"  he 
repeated,  more  anxiously. 

Now  it  was  Dick's  turn  to  be  puzzled  —  and  he 
looked  it. 

"  Belly?  —  empty?  "  said  the  wild  man.  Light 
dawned  upon  Dick.  "  Yes,  I  am  hungry,"  he 
said.  "  Hungry  and  sore  and  weak.  Have  you 
anything  for  me  to  eat?  " 

In  reply,  the  wild  man  turned  and  crawled  out 
of  the  cave ;  but  he  was  back  in  a  minute  with  a 
lump  of  raw,  frozen  meat  in  his  hand.  This  he 
presented  to  Dick  with  a  fine  air  of  hospitality. 
Dick  shook  his  head.  "Cook?"  he  said,  and 
pointed  to  the  fire. 

"  Yes  —  cook,"  said  the  other.  "  Cook.  That's 
right,  lad.  Aye,  that's  right."  T'i  hunted  about 
the  floor  of  the  ien  until  he  found  a  long,  sharp 
bone.  One  end  of  this  he  thrust  into  the  lump 
of  meat  and,  squatting  close  to  the  fire,  he  held 
the  ragged,  frost-bitten  flesh  to  the  flame. 


Mil 


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M! 


■ill 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  QUEER     NURSE     AND     A     QUEERER     COMPANION. 
FRAGMENTS    OF   THE    WILD    MAN's    PAST 

The  scent  of  the  scorching  meat  took  away 
Dick's  appetite;  and  by  the  time  his  host  pre- 
sented it  to  him,  charred  on  the  surfaces  and 
scarcely  warm  inside,  he  could  only  shake  his 
aching  head  and  turn  away. 

"  I  don't  feel  hungry  now,"  he  said,  "  but  I  am 
still  thirsty  and  my  head  aches  horribly." 

"  Fever,"  said  the  wild  man.  He  felt  Dick's 
hand  and  face  with  a  big,  gnarled  hand  the  nails 
of  whi-h  were  as  long  as  the  panther's  claws. 
"Aye,  lad,  ye've  got  it  — an'  that  comes  of 
layin'  off  this  here  gold-coast  all  these  months." 

"  What?  "  eyclaimed  Dick,  feebly.  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  the  gold-coast?  What  are  you 
talking  about?  " 

"  Don't  know,"  replied  the  other,  and  tearing 
the  scorched  meat  into  several  lumpy  fragments 
with  his  fingers,  he  bolted  them  swiftly,  one  by 

184 


A   QUEER   NURSE 


185 


one.  "  Good,"  he  miirmured,  and  wiped  the 
back  of  his  hand  across  his  bewhiskered  lips. 
Dick  groaned,  for  weakness  of  fever  brought  on 
by  loss  of  blood  and  fatigue  was  upon  him.  The 
light  of  interest  returned  to  the  wild  man's  eyes 
at  that  sound. 

"  Aye,  lad,  ye  be  took,  for  sure,"  he  said,  "  ye 
can  take  Joe  Banks'  word  for  that  there.  But 
I'll  give  'e  a  swig  o'  yarb  tea,  seein's  how  doctor 
be  dead  himself,  all  along  o'  this  here  same  fever." 

Dick  was  beyond  questioning  this  strange 
speech ;  and  a  minute  later,  when  the  wooden  cup 
was  held  to  his  lips,  he  swallowed  a  half-pint 
of  cold,  bitter-sweet  liquid  without  a  word  or 
motion  of  objection.  He  found  it  to  be  both 
refreshing  and  comforting;  and,  a  minute  later, 
he  fell  asleep. 

Dick  slept  for  several  hours.  The  wild  man, 
who  had  mentioned  his  name  as  Joe  Banks, 
remained  by  his  couch  for  a  few  minutes,  gazing 
into  his  face  with  a  puzzled  expression;  then 
muttering  a  jumble  of  meaningless  words,  he 
clawed  some  spruce  boughs  and  peltries  together 
near  the  fire,  lay  down  and  resigned  himself  t(j 
sound  slumber.  Like  the  other  silent-footed 
haunters  of  the  wilderness,  day  was  his  time  of 


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186    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

rest  and  night  his  season  of  activity.    Joe  Banks 
had  not  been  asleep  for  more  than  ten  minutes 
when  the  low  entrance  to  the  den  was  darkened 
by  the  form  of  the  big  panther.     The  creature 
entered  silently,  with  a  cautious  halting  motion 
of  its  sinewy  limbs  and  lean  body,  paused  for  a 
second  just  within  the  mouth  of  the  den  and 
glared  around  with  its  pale,  luminous  eyes.     Its 
gaze  shifted  from  the  form  o;  its  wild  companion 
curled  up  beside  the  fire,  to  the  form  on  the  rough 
couch   beyond.      It   advanced,    limping   slightly, 
silent  as  a  tawny  shadow,  and  again  halted  close 
to   where    Dick   lay    heedless   and   unprotected. 
Standing  motionless,  but  with  relaxed  muscles, 
it  stared  at  him  fixedly  for  a  full  minute.    At  last 
it  lowered  its  head  and  sniffed  his  left  hand,  which 
lay  uncovered.     Th-n  it  turned  away,  unearthed 
a  bedraggled  looking  bone  from  a  dark  corner, 
carried  this  treasure  close  to  the  fire  and  lay  down 
and  began  to  gnaw  it.    The  sound  of  the  gnawing 
awaked  the  wild  man.    He  sat  up,  glanced  at  the 
big  cat,  and  then  lay  down  again. 

When  Dick  awoke  the  den  was  dark  save  for 
the  fitful  light  of  the  fire,  which  had  been  re- 
plenished only  a  few  minutes  before  with  dry 
peat  and  a  few  sticks  of  birch.     Joe  Banks  was 


■i 


A   QUEER   XURSE 


187 


gone,  but  by  the  yellow  flames  Dick  saw  the  big 
panther  lying  outstretched  with  its  round  head 
on  its  paws.  Remembering  his  last  interview 
with  the  panther  — he  could  not  doubt  for  a 
moment  that  this  was  the  same  beast  —  he  felt 
decidedly  uncomfortable.  Here  he  was,  wounded 
and  defenceless,  with  a  cunning  and  ferocious 
mountain  panther  lying  not  three  yards  away. 
With  his  1-ft  hand  he  felt  about  his  waist  and 
hips  for  his  belt-axe;  but  axe  and  belt  were  gone. 
He  searched  about  the  branches  and  skins  of 
his  bed  with  groping  fingers,  hoping  to  discover 
his  axe  or  rifle,  or  something  that  might  serve 
as  a  weapon  in  case  of  need.  But  nothing  lay  near 
at  hand  heavier  than  the  wooden  cup  from  which 
he  had  swallowed  the  herb  tea  before  his  last 
sleep.  It  stood  beside  the  head  of  his  couch,  and 
as  he  lifted  it  with  his  left  hand,  possessed  ot 
a  vague  idea  that  it  would  serve  as  a  weapon 
against  the  panther,  cool  liquid  splashed  over 
his  finger.  So  he  brought  the  bowl  to  his  lips, 
sniffed  inquiringly  and  found  it  to  be  of  the  same 
brew  as  the  previous  dose,  and  drained  it  to  the 
last  drop.  There  were  flavours  of  spruce,  winter- 
green  and  many  more  forest  properties  about  it, 
bitter  and  sweet  on  the  tongue,  and  wonderfully 


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11 


188    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

cool  further  down.    So  he  drank  with  relish,  for 
the  moment  forgetting  the  panther.     In  trying 
to  return  the  cup  to  its  place  on  the  floor  beside 
his  bed,  it  sHpped  from  his  fingers  and  fell  with 
a  clatter.    At  that,  the  panther  raised  its  round 
head,  and  its  round  eyes  met  Dick's  horrified 
gaze.     So,  for  what  seemed  a  long  time  to  one 
of  them  at  least,  the  man  and  the  beast  stared  at 
each  other  without  so  much  as  the  flicker  of  an 
eyelid.     Then,  suddenly,  the  big  cat  lowered  his 
head  to  his  paws  again.    A  sigh  of  wonder  and 
relief  escaped  Dick. 

For  a  long  time  both  occupants  of  the  den  lay 
motionless  and  silent.    Dick,  who  felt  better  for 
his  sleep,  was  greatly  puzzled  by  the  panther's 
evident   indifference  to  his  presence.     Also,   he 
wondered  at  the  wild  man's  absence,  and  hoped 
for  his  speedy  return;    for,  though  the  big  cat 
seemed  peacefully  inclined  just  now,  he  felt  the 
smart  and  ache  of  his  wounds  and  did  not  trust 
it.     Lying  there,  with  the  smell  of  smoke,  badly 
cured  skins,  mouldy  bones  and  damp  rock  in  his 
nostrils,  and  with  one  eye  turned  anxiously  in 
the  direction  of  his  companion,  his  thoughts  went 
longmgly  back  to  Sober  Sam  and  the  dry,  snug 
shack  on  the  foot  of  Two-Fox  Pond.    He  wondered 


A  QUEER   NURSE 


189 


how  many  horns  or  days  had  passed  since  the 
morning  of  his  departure  from  the  shack.  A  haze 
of  weariness  passed  over  his  mind  every  now  and 
then.  He  wondered  how  poor  Sam,  with  his  cut 
foot,  was  managing  to  take  care  of  himself.  He 
would  have  to  leave  his  bimk  and  hop  about  to 
do  his  cooking  —  and  as  soon  as  the  supply  of 
wood  in  the  shack  was  consumed  he  would  be 
forced  to  take  his  axe  and  hobble  into  the  bush 
for  more.  And  what  was  the  poor  old  fellow 
thinking  about  his  absence?  And  now  Dick's 
mind  turned  to  the  skin  of  the  black  fox,  the 
cause  of  his  present  strange  and  undesirable 
position.  He  had  seen  nothing  of  it,  so  far,  in  the 
den.  Perhaps  it  was  somewhere  close  at  hand,  so 
ill-lighted  was  the  cave  by  day  as  by  night ;  for 
that  matter,  it  might  even  be  among  the  skins 
upon  which  he  lay.  Forgetting  the  panther,  he 
began  to  feel  about  beneath  him  with  his  left 
hand.  From  one  part  of  the  couch  and  another 
he  drew  out  three  pelts  of  moderate  sizes,  one  of 
a  beaver  and  the  others  of  common  foxes.  He 
was  about  to  search  again  when  he  was  disturbed 
by  the  panther  getting  noiselessly  to  its  feet. 

The  panther  approached  Dick's  bed,  stalking 
slowly   through   the   gloom   of  the   den.     Four 


t     -           Hi 

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■  -  'i' 

if' 


11.  ■ 


12 


^      % 


190     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

paces  it  advanced ;  then  it  halted,  and  its  round 
eyes  shone  h'ke  yellow  lamps  from  the  shadowed 
block  of  its  head.     Dick  lay  frozen  with  horror, 
knowing   his   helplessness  with   only   his  empty 
left  hand  for   lefence.     But  he  gripped  that  hand 
into  a  fist,  determined  to  put  up  a  fight  even 
against    those    hopeless    odds.      The    great    cat 
advanced  another  step  and,  instead  of  jumping 
forward,    sank    back    quietly    on    its    haunches. 
Still  its   pale   eyes   shone  balefully.      But   Dick 
took  heart  at  its  attitude,  for  no  member  of  the 
great  cat   family   sits  down  to  contemplate  im- 
mediate mischief.    So  it  sat  for  a  long  time,  while 
Dick  fairly  held  his  breath  with  a  dreadful  anxiety. 
At  last  the  panther  yawned,  then  fell  to  licking 
the  fur  of  his  chest  and  fore-shoulders.     Then  he 
lay  down,  with  his  head  not  more  than  twenty 
inches  from  Dick's  hand,  and  gave  his  attention 
to  the  cleaning  and  polishing  of  his  paws.     That 
job  done  to  his  satisfaction,  he  settled  his  chin 
on  the  floor  and  closed  his  eyes.    For  a  little  while 
Dick  lay  awake,  thinking  of  this  strange  thing 
with  wonder  and  thankfulness;    but   fever  was 
working  in  him,  along  with  the  weakness  caused 
by    his    wounds,    and    presently    he,    too,    fell 
asleep. 


A  QUEER   NURSE 


191 


It  was  day  when  Dick  again  opened  his  eyes. 
A  long,  low  shaft  of  sunlight  streamed  through 
the  mouth  of  the  den  and  gilded  a  path  along  the 
untidy  floor.  The  fire  on  the  fiat  stone  burned 
brightly  with  dry  wood,  and  before  it  squatted 
Joe  Banks,  the  wild  man,  broiling  the  red  carcass 
of  a  freshly-skinned  hare  at  the  crackling  flames. 
Beside  him  on  the  floor  lay  his  notorious  round, 
hide-filled  racquets.  Dick  felt  warm  and  com- 
fortable just  then,  and  his  mind  wss  in  a  happy 
state  of  vagueness  that  did  away  entirely  with 
curiosity  and  anxiety.  He  lay  quiet,  watching 
his  host  at  his  crude  cooking.  He  noticed,  without 
much  interest,  that  the  panther  was  not  in  the 
den.  He  felt  light-headed,  warm,  contented. 
He  remembered  Sober  Sam  as  a  friend  of  long 
ago,  and  the  quest  of  the  black  fox  skin  not  at 
all.  He  was  vaguely,  care-freely  interested  in 
the  wild  man  and  the  broiling  hare;  but  he  felt 
no  pangs  of  hunger.  If  there  was  anything  for 
which  he  felt  a  desire  at  all  just  then,  it  was  a 
cool  drink.  But  he  was  not  really  thirsty.  It 
was  not  worth  the  effort  of  asking.  It  did  not 
matter.  Nothing  mattered.  He  really  felt  very 
comfortable  and  happy. 

The  wild  man  looked  up  from  the  fire,  when  the 


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192    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

hare  was  scorched  and  smoked  to  his  fancy,  and 
seeing  the  invalid's  eyes  fixed  upon  him  aros^ 
from  his  cramped  position  and  went  over  to  the 
bed.  grmning  broadly.  He  carried  the  frizzled 
blackened  carcass  of  the  rabbit  on  the  end  of  a 
green-wood  stick,  and  extended  it  toward  Dick. 
"Ye'll  find  this  here  good  eatin',  lad,"  he 
said. 

"  I  am  not  himgry,  thank  you,"  replied  Dick 
weakly.  "  But  I'm  dry.  Give  me  another  drink 
of  that  cold  stuff,  will  you?" 

"Yarb  tea,"  said  the  other.  "Poor  liquor, 
to  my  way  o'  thinking.  But  yer  welcome  to  it,' 
lad  —  an'  it  be  doctor's  orders,  too." 

He  held  the  cup  to  Dick's  lips.  The  lad  drank 
eagerly,  and  felt  better.  "  The  doctor.?  whom  do 
you  mean.?  "  he  asked,  awakened  to  a  mild  in- 
terest in  life  by  the  cooling  draught. 

Doctor's  dead,"  returned  the  wild  man. 
"Aye,  dead  as  that  there  bone."  He  scratched 
his  chin  under  its  thatch  of  whisker.  "Aye 
dead."  he  repeated.  "  Fine  gent  too,  was  the 
doctor.  Rum  killed  him -in  a  mamier  o' 
speakin'."  He  shot  a  furtive  glance  at  Dick. 
"  Aye,  ye  may  lay  to  that,  lad.  'Twas  the  rum 
that  done  for  him," 


A   QUEER   NURSE 


193 


But  already  Dick's  mind  was  wandering  from 
the  subject. 

"  Where's  the  panther?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  him!  "  returned  Joe  Banks.  "  Jerry  you 
mean.  He's  standin'  his  watch  on  deck.  Aye, 
that's  it,  lad.    Him  on  deck  an'  me  below." 

Dick's  eyelids  were  sliding  down  and  his  wits 
were  drifting  away,  wool-gathering  in  the  lan- 
guorous realms  of  fever-dreams. 

"  You  talk  queerly,"  he  said  drowsily.  "  You 
talk  as  if  you  were  not  quite  right  in  the  head. 
But  I  don't  mind.  I  —  I  think  I'll  take  another 
nap,  if  you  have  no  objection." 

"  Not  right  in  the  head!  "  exclaimed  Joe  Banks 
indignantly.  "  Not  right  in  the  head,  d'ye  say? 
Me,  Joe  Banks,  bosun,  not  right  aloft!  well,  that 
do  beat  all.  Just  what  doctor  said,  too,  more  nor 
once.  But  he  died  o'  the  rum  —  in  a  manner  o' 
speakin'.  Aye,  jest  in  a  manner  o'  speakin'. 
Twasn't  him  took  the  rum,  ye'U  understand.  I'm 
the  lad  took  the  rum  —  an'  that's  what  done  for 
the  doctor.  Rare  fine  slush-artist  he  was,  too. 
Great  hand  at  the  duffs  he  was  —  an'  middlin'  at 
a  stew.  But  'twas  the  rum  killed  him.  Aye, 
'twas  the  rum  —  in  a  manner  o'  speakin'." 

He    stopped   his   talk   suddenly   and    looked 


i':[ 


If  ■;    'i^  ■ 


194    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

sharply  and  suspiciously  at  Dick.    But  Dick  was 
sound  asleep.     The   wild   man  returned   to  his 
place  by  the  fire  and  ate  the  hare  with  a  fine  show 
of  teeth  and  every  evidence  of  a  healthy  appetite. 
That  done,  he  placed  more  peat  and  wood  on  the 
fire,   picked  his  teeth  with  the  long  knife  that 
Dick  had  once  found  in  the  snow  and  had  so 
so  soon  returned  to  Lim,  and  fell  to  mumbling 
and    muttering.      He   looked    more    like   a   wild 
beast  than  a  man  with  a  name,  crouched  there 
with  his  tangled   locks  hanging  about  his   face 
and   shoulders,   his  matted  beard  and  whiskers 
like  the  coat  of  a  mountain  sheep  on  his  breast, 
and  his  great  brown  fingers  scarred  and  hooked 
like  claws.     His  keen  grey  eyes  darted  restlessly 
from  side  to  side,  and  he  mumbled  stra.  ,e  words 
and  the  names  of  strange,  far  places  that  seemed 
to  have  nothing  in  common  with  the  dea  in  the 
frozen  wilderness.    While  he  squatted  and  gabbled 
the  panther  entered,  devoured  such  bones  of  the 
hare  as  lay  discarded  on  the  floor,  licked  his  great 
chops  and  slunk  out  again. 

An  hour  passed.  Joe  Banks  brewed  himself  a 
kettlefuU  of  the  tea  that  he  had  stolen  from  the 
shack.  Next,  he  set  some  herbs  in  the  fire  to 
steep,  so  that  drink  should  be  ready  for  Dick  on 


'"••■  T.  T-g 


A  QUEER   NURSE 


195 


his  awakening.  From  a  crack  between  two  of  the 
logs  of  which  the  extension  of  the  cave  was  built, 
he  produced  a  very  black  and  very  short  clay 
pipe.  This  he  filled  with  tobacco,  shaving  it 
lovingly  from  a  mahogany-coloured  plug  which 
Sober  Sam  would  have  recognized  had  he  been 
there  to  see.  Having  smoked  the  pipe  to  the 
last  gurgling  puff,  he  hid  it  away,  placed  fresh 
fuel  on  the  fire  and  went  to  sleep. 

Both  Dick  and  the  wild  man  were  awakened 
about  an  hour  later  by  the  entrance  of  the  panther. 
The  big  cat  carried  something  limp  and  furry  in 
its  mouth  —  and  attached  to  the  thing  in  its 
mouth  was  a  heavy  article  that  banged  and 
clattered  along  the  floor  of  the  den.  The  panther 
dropped  his  prize  in  front  of  the  fire  and  sat 
down  on  his  haunches.  Joe  Banks  took  the 
limp  thing  up  in  his  hands  —  it  proved  to  be  a 
dead  fox  of  the  common  yellowish  red  variety  — 
and,  calling  both  hands  and  feet  into  play,  freed 
it  from  the  trap  and  chain.  Dick's  mind,  which 
was  fairly  clear  at  the  moment,  saw  in  this  the 
secret  of  the  mystery  of  the  vanished  traps. 
When  the  panther  wanted  an  animal  that  hap- 
pened to  be  caught  fast  in  a  trap  he  simply 
exerted  '.  "s  great  muscles  and  took  away  trap 


It 


»r 


i   i 


196     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

and  all.  It  was  not  according  to  the  laws  of 
towns  or  the  laws  of  the  wilderness  —  from  a 
trapper's  point  of  view  —  but  it  was  very  simple 
and  natural. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


THE    FEVER    GRIPS    DICK    HARD. 

TROUBLES 


THE    WILD    man's 


while  Dick 


The  wild  man  skinned  the  f( 
the  panther  looked  on.  Then  he  tossed  the  skin 
into  a  comer  and,  producing  Dick's  belt  axe,  cut 
the  head  and  legs  off  the  carcass  and  tossed  them 
to  the  expectant  panther. 

"  Mind  what  you  are  about,"  said  Dick. 
"  You'll  spoil  the  edge  of  that  axe." 

Joe  Banks  sprang  into  the  air  and  gave  vent 
to  a  startled  yell ;  but  the  panther  fell  to  on  the 
tasty  morsels  that  had  been  thrown  to  him, 
crunching  away  without  so  much  as  a  glance  at 
Dick  or  the  perturbed  Joseph. 

"Ye  be  too  middent  in  yer  talk,  lad!  "  ex- 
claimed the  wild  man.  "  Ye  set  my  narves  all  of 
a  jig.  Sounded  jest  like  my  old  mate  the  doctor, 
you  did  —  an'  him  dead,  mind  ye.  Rare  hand  at 
talkin',  he  was  —  an'  likewise  at  duffs  and  stews. 
Not  a  real  doctor,  ye  understand,  but  a  first-chop 

deep-sea  cook." 

i»7 


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ri«--^^B|   ^t 

) 

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1'' 

198     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

"Where  is  he  now?  —  and  what  ship  did  he 
belong  to?  "  asked  Dick. 

"The  doctor?  Aye,  ye  may  ask,  lad  —  an' 
keep  on  askin',"  returned  the  other,  with  a 
crafty  smile  and  sidelong  glance.  "  Ye'd  like  to 
know  all  about  him,  wouldn't  ye  —  and  about  me 
too.  But  ye '11  have  to  sail  a  long  v'yage  afore  ye 
catch  Joe  Banks  a-nappin'.  Not  there's  anything 
about  me  I  wouldn't  tell  to  a  bishop,  mind  ye. 
I'm  white,  I  am,  an'  ye  may  lay  to  that.  I've 
bin  a  bit  rough  in  my  time,  maybe,  what  with 
rum  an'  shore-leave  and  maybe  a  touch  o'  sam, 
but  ever  since  I  come  shore  off  the  old  Sea  Robin 
an'  let  go  my  hooks  in  these  here  soundin's  I've 
lived  straighter  an'  more  peaceable  nor  some 
maiden  ladies." 

Dick's  attention  was  slipping,  for  he  was  a 
very  ill  man.  "  I  can't  quite  follow  you,"  he 
said.  "  You  gabble  along  like  some  book  I've 
read  —  and  I  don't  understand  what  you  are 
doing  up  here  in  the  woods.  Thought  you  couldn't 
talk  at  all  when  I  first  knew  you.  But  I  don't 
want  to  hear  you  talk,  just  now.  What  I  want 
is  a  drink  —  a  long  drink  —  a  cold  drink." 

"  Aye,  ye  want  a  drink.  Doctor  was  ever- 
lastingly wantin'  a  drink,"  babbled  the  wild  man, 


THE   FEVER   GRIPS   DICK    199 

smiling  foolishly  and  v/agging  his  untidy  head. 
"  Board  o'  trade  lime  juice,  v  "ffeiied  with  a  dash 
o'  rum  was  his  fancy.  Ncic  o'  yer  lea  -um,  mind 
'e,  but  brown  Barbadoes  rum,  mild  as  milk  an' 
as  smooth  as  —  as  his  own  tongue.  .\n'  that  same 
was  my  fancy,  too;  but  'twas  rum  an'  a  dash  o' 
the  lime  juice  with  me.  An'  'twas  the  rum  done 
for  doctor,  sure's  yer  name  be  Peter  Finch." 

"  But  my  name  is  not  Peter  Finch,"  returned 
Dick,  wearily.  "  Give  me  a  drink  of  herb  tea, 
will  you?  And  I  wish  you'd  stop  talking  for  a 
while." 

"  Aye,  'tis  a  wonder  how  all  the  words  have 
come  back  to  me,  since  I  found  ye  on  the  land- 
wash,  lad,"  said  Joe.  "  If  I  was  to  tell  ye  how 
long  it  is  since  last  I  talked  to  a  real  live  human  — 
an'  that  was  the  doctor  —  ye'd  call  me  a  liar, 
like  as  not.  'Twas  so  long  ago  I  don't  know  when 
it  was." 

"  Give  me  a  drink,"  cried  Dick. 

The  babbler  got  to  his  feet,  took  the  brew  from 
the  fire  and  carried  it  outside  the  den,  where  he 
set  the  old  kettle  in  a  mow-bank  to  cool.  The 
panther  followed  him.  Joe  turned  and  gazed 
reflectively  at  the  beast.  "  Bill,"  he  said,  "  I'm 
sick  o'  this  here  port,  an'  why  you  and  me  don't 


^ 


*M 


1;   t. . 


^f  >H 


n-'  \ 


:i  Hr:i; 


200    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

ship  for  some  other  clime  is  more'n  I  can  say. 
Sometimes  I  know  why  we  don't,  an'  sometimes 
I  don't  know.     This  be  one  o'  the  times  I  kin 
honestly  say  as  how  I  don't  know.     My  mind 
ain't  what  it  was,  Bill,  when  I  sailed  bosun  in  the 
Old  Sea   Robin.     There   was   the   doctor,    now. 
Him  an'  me  left  the  ship  together.    Aye,  that's 
clear  as  A  B  C  makes  four.     An'  we  brought 
something  away  with  us.     Now  what  was  that, 
Bill?     An'   whatever  it  was,   where  is  it  now.? 
An'  where  is  the  doctor,  when  it  comes  to  that.? 
I  have  it  in  my  mind,  Bill,  now  an'  then,  that  I 
done   somethin'   to  the   doctor  with  a  knife  — 
which  o'  course  wasn't  right  nor  accordin'    to 
regulations." 

At  this  point  of  the  one-sided  conversation 
the  panther  turned  and  re-entered  the  den.  The 
wild  man  gazed  after  him,  scratched  his  head, 
then  picked  up  the  kettle  of  herb-tea  and  fol- 
lowed him.  He  poured  som^j  of  the  liquor  in  the 
wooden  bowl  and  held  it  to  Dick's  eager  and 
feverish  lips.  After  draining  the  bcm^l  Dick 
again  drifted  off  into  a  hoavy  but  uneasy  sleep. 

Dick  tossed  and  turned  on  his  rough  couch,  in 
the  grip  of  a  fever  that  had  been  breeding  in  his 
blood  for  days,  the  first  seeds  of  which  had  been 


THE   FEVER   GRIPS   DICK    201 

sown  by  exposxire  and  fatigue.  It  had  been 
brought  to  a  head  by  the  struggle  with  the 
panther  and  by  the  v»ounds  which  the  great 
beast  had  inflicted.  Joe  Banks  watched  beside 
him,  giving  him  drink  whenever  he  asked  for  it, 
and  the  panther  hunted  along  the  lines  of  the 
neglected  traps.  Dick  talked  sometimes,  wildly, 
incoherently,  and  called  his  queer-looking  nurse 
by  many  names.  For  a  little  while  in  the  early 
mornings,  Dick  was  rational  though  weak;  but 
for  five  afternoons  and  nights  his  body  was  shaken 
by  the  fever  and  his  mind  went  wandering. 
During  all  that  time  he  ate  nothing,  but  drank 
large  quantities  of  herb  tea.  It  was  this  tonic, 
cooling  drink  that  saved  his  hfe,  beyond  a  doubt. 
Sometimes,  while  he  tossed  and  babbled,  the 
panther  lay  beside  his  couch  and  the  wild  man 
hunted  for  food  across  the  frosty  wilderness  out- 
side the  den;  but  at  night  it  was  always  Joe 
Banks  who  kept  watch.  And  sometimes  Joe 
talked  to  those  unheeding  ears  of  the  doctor;  and 
of  rum  and  ships  and  harbours  with  fine,  foreign- 
sounding  names;  and  sometimes  he  spoke  of  the 
doctor's  death,  uncertainly,  wonderingly,  as  if 
he  had  no  very  clear  idea  as  to  how  it  had  hap- 
pened;   and  sometimes  he  laughed  at  his   own 


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''  ~--. 

202    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

thoughts,  and  tried  to  sing  deep-sea  chanties  and 
love-lorn  ditties.     But   there  were  times  — brief 
and  infrequent  —  when  the  crazy  light  went  out 
of  his  eyes  and  his  endless,   senseless    babbling 
ceased.     At  such  times  an  expression  of  horror 
and  suffering  came  to  his  face.    At  such  times  his 
brain  cleared  and  he  remembered  —  remembered 
many  things  of  many  lands  and  seas,  and  years  of 
suffering  and  loneliness  in  this  frozen  wilderness 
—  but,  most  vividly  and  terribly  of  all,  he  re- 
membered the  death  of  his  old  si  ip-mate,  whom 
he  called  the  doctor.    At  such  times  he  would  pace 
the  clay   floor  of  that  gloomy,  untidy  den,  his 
great  hands  clinched,  his  great  frame  shaken  by 
agonies  of  remorse  and  despair.    Then  he  realized 
that  he  was  an  outcast,  a  murderer,  a  man  lost 
to  the  knowledge  of  his  kind,  living  in  a  den  like 
a  beast,  seeking  and  eating  his  food  like  a  beast, 
and  with  no  companionship  save  that  of  a  beast. 
And  so,   in  a  little  while,  his  return  to  sanity 
would    drive    him    back    to    babbling    care-free 
madness. 

Even  during  Joe  Banks'  hours  of  sanity  much 
of  his  recent  life  remained  blank  to  him.  This 
was  the  case  in  the  matter  of  Dick  Ramsey's 
presence  in  the  den.    Sane,  he  knew  nothing  of 


THE    FEVER   GRIPS   DICK    203 

how  the  young  man  had  come  there;  crazy,  he 
knew  that  the  panther  was  at  the  bottom  of  the 
stranger's  troubles  and  that  he,  Joe  Banks,  had 
beaten  the  panther  off  and  carried  the  wounded 
lad  to  the  den.  WTien  in  his  usual  state  of  mind 
—  which  was  that  of  insanity  —  he  not  only 
knew  something  of  Dick  but  knew  of  the  shack 
on  Two-Fox  Pond  and  of  Sober  Sam  as  well. 
These  things  stood  clear  in  his  mind,  hemmed 
about  by  mists  and  shadows.  The  memories  of 
his  life  in  the  -wilderness  were  mere  fragments; 
but,  during  his  brief  seasons  of  saneness,  his  more 
distant  past  came  clearly  to  his  mind;  but  at 
these  times  all  that  he  could  recall  of  the  more 
immediate  past  were  such  impressions  as  he  had 
caught  during  his  moments  of  sanity. 

Joe  Banks  had  sailed  on  many  vessels,  of 
divers  sizes  and  models,  to  many  parts  of  the 
world.  He  had  made  several  voyages  as  boatswain 
of  a  barque  named  the  Sea  Robin  —  but  this  had 
not  been  the  last  vessel  in  which  he  had  sailed, 
though  the  last  to  carry  him  under  his  real  name. 
After  years  of  honest  seafaring,  Joe  fell  suddenly 
to  criminal  courses.  He  was  boatswain  of  the 
Sea  Robin  at  the  time,  and  the  craft  fellow  known 
to  his  associates  as  the   "doctor"  was  cook, 


II' 


f 


.3': 


\i 


m 


(  .  :'i   I 


V  r 


HI'!. 


204    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

aboard  the  same  stout  craft.     Dick  was  an  old 
hand  aboard  the  barque,  however,  and  the  cook 
was  new.     But  the  cook  had  sharpened  his  wits 
in  the  low  quarters  of  many  cities,  and  under  many 
names,  and  cooking  for  the  captain,   mate  and 
crew  of  the  Sea  Robin  was  only  a  part  of  one  of 
his  evil  games.    The  barque,  after  a  good  passage 
from  Nova  Scotia,  was  nearing  a  certain  hot  and 
steaming  port  of  Brazil,  when  the  so-called  doctor 
made   known  part   of  his  game -just   a  little 
artistic  fragment  of  it  -  to  the  boatswain.     But 
by  that  time  he  knew  the  other's  nature  pretty 
thoroughly  -  and  knew  it  to  be  weak  as  fore- 
castle lime-juice.     He  told  Joe  Banks  that  the 
captain  was  carrying  an  extra  dispatch-box  this 
trip,  and  that  this  box  contained  four  pearls  of 
great  value,  the  property  of  a  once-great  Spanish 
family   resident   near  the   city   of   Pemambuco. 
He  knew  a  good  deal  of  the  history  of  the  pearls, 
and  so  made  a  very  interesting  story  of  it.     The 
Brazilian  family  had  been  hard  pressed  for  money 
a  few  years  back,  had  borrowed  heavily  from  a 
Halifax  merchant  and  had  given  the  pearls  into 
his  keeping  for  security.     Lately  th^y  had  done 
well  with  their  colTee  and  sugar  plantations,  and 
had  been  able  to  give  the  northern  merchant  part 


THE   FEVER   GRIPS   DICK    205 

of  his  money  back  and  security  for  the  balance 
of  a  less  personal  nature  than  the  four  pearls. 
And  the  pearls  were  now  in  the  cabin  of  the 
Sea  Robin,  in  a  disp^'tch-box  that  was  Captain 
Mann's  especial  care,  on  their  way  home  to  the 
once  mighty  family  of  Spanish  extraction.  When 
Joe  Banks  asked  his  friend  the  cook  how  he  came 
to  possess  so  much  information  on  the  subject, 
that  mysterious  gentleman  simply  winked  one  of 
his  sly  eyes  and  replied  that  it  was  his  business  to 
know. 

There  were  two  dispatch-boxes,  strongly  made 
and  strongly  locked  in  the  Sea  Robin's  inner 
cabin.  One  of  these,  of  course  (the  old  battered 
one,  beyond  a  doubt),  contained  the  ship's 
papers  and  a  small  canvas  bag  of  sovereigns  — 
just  the  every-day  contents  of  every  vessel's 
dispatch-box.  The  other  box  (equally  of  course) 
contained  the  four  wonderful  pearls.  So  it  hap- 
pened that  the  boatswain  and  the  cook  took 
shore-leave  and  French-leave  at  one  and  the 
same  time.  It  was  Joe  who  made  the  actual 
theft,  the  while  the  artful  cook  stood  by  to  give 
warning,  with  one  eye  on  the  mate  beside  the  main- 
mast and  the  other  down  the  sky- light  watched 
the  captain  asleep  in  his  bed.    Then  the  cwo  went 


^   fe.-.# 


206    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

Ov-er  the  rail  like  shadows  and  ran  up  the  wharf 
on  noiseless  feet.  In  the  black,  narrow  street 
between  two  big  warehouses  the  doctor  (for 
let  us  call  him  by  Joe's  favourite  name  for  him) 
possessed  himself  of  the  precious  box.  At  the 
same  moment  of  getting  that  article  fairly  under 
his  left  arm  he  turned  and  darted  along  the 
unlighted  street.  The  big  boatswain  suspected 
nothing ;  but  a  passion  for  the  box  had  grown  in 
his  heart.  After  a  short,  sharp  run  tne  doctor 
slowed  to  a  walk. 

"  No  call  fer  ye  to  walk  right  up  on  the  back 
of  my  neck,"  said  he.  "  When  yer  tired,  doctor, 
I'll  take  a  hand  with  the  box,"  said  Joe. 

"Ain't  tired,  not  a  mite,"  retorted  the 
other. 

In  silence  they  passed  along  many  black  and 
evil-smelling  streets.  The  doctor's  left  elbow, 
under  which  was  the  small  box,  touched  the 
boatswain's  right  elbow;  and  in  that  touch  a 
shock  passed  to  the  latter's  mind  and  spirit.  He 
dropped  back  swiftly  —  a  step  tc  the  rear  and 
a  step  to  the  side  —  obeying  the  unreassuring 
shock.  And  as  he  stepped,  the  blade  of  a  knife 
cut  his  shirt  and  just  turned  the  skin  on  his 
shoulder.    Amazed,   afire  with   righteous   indig- 


THE   FEVER  GRIPS   DICK    207 


nation,  Joe  replied  to  this  incivility  by  hurling 
himself  upon  bis  companion,  blindly,  furiously 
and  silently  in  the  dark.  They  fell  heavily  upon 
the  cobbles  of  the  street,  the  doctor  and  the  box 
underneath.  The  knife  clattered  harmlessly  on 
the  stones.  The  doctor  struggled  desperately 
for  a  few  seconds,  doing  his  best  to  connect  one 
of  his  hard  knees  with  the  pit  of  his  friend's 
stomach;  but  the  boatswain  got  a  grip  on  the 
wind-pipe  with  one  of  his  big  hands. 

"  Mer  —  cy !  "  gasped  the  doctor. 

Joe  relaxed  his  grip.  "  Ye  tried  to  knife  me,  ye 
dirty  sneak!  "  he  cried. 

"  Keep  quiet,"  replied  the  other.  "  You'll 
have  the  people  awake  —  an'  the  police  after  us. 
Ease  your  holt  a  bit,  bosun,  an'  I'll  tell  you  how  it 
was." 

Joe  Banks'  amazinj,  ;ood  nature  (when  sober) 
and  credulity  were  large  parts  of  his  general 
weakness.  He  loosened  the  grip  of  his  fingers 
still  more. 

"  What  ye  got  to  say?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,"  replied  the  other,  slowly  and  in  a  thin 
whisper,  "  I  didn't  try  to  knife  you,  Joe. 
Fact !  I  —  I  was  just  shiftin'  my  knife  across 
to    my    other    side  —  an'    when    you    jumped 


i     i 


208    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

you  give  me  such  a  start  my  hand  kinder  flew 
out." 

The  boatswain,  kneeling  astride  his  fellow- 
thief,  gave  this  amazing  statement  his  most 
deliberate  attention. 


L'M 


iiii 


i 


M 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    WILD    man's    PAST    ADVENTURES    CONTINUED. 
THE   doctor's  depravity.      THE  EMPTY   BOX 

"  I  don't  like  it,  ye  may  lay  to  that,  doctor," 
said  the  boatswain,  at  last.  "  Looked  to  me  like 
ye  was  try  in'  to  stick  me.  Queer  way  for  to  treat 
>'er  mate,  doctor  —  him  as  took  the  risk  to  get 
the  box  from  under  the  skipper's  nose." 

"  Honest,  Joe,  it  was  an  accident,"  returned  the 
other.  '*  Let  me  up,  mate,  for  heaven's  sake. 
Folk'll  be  findin'  us  here,  if  you  don't  —  an' 
maybe  the  cap'n  has  spotted  the  loss  of  the  box 
already." 

"Just  a  moment,"  said  the  boatswain. 
"  Where're  we  bound  for?  " 

"  The  country,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  We  want 
to  get  clear  of  this  town  just  as  quick  as  we  know 
how.  Then  we'll  take  out  the  pearls  an'  chuck 
the  box  away.  We'll  hang  around  a  bit  out  of 
sight,  an'  after  a  while  ship  for  Noo  Yo'k,  under 
nom  de  plumes.^* 

306 


!    I 


,..j. 


i? 


210    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

"  Tender  who,  doctor?  "  inquired  Joe  Banks, 
suspiciously, 

"Under  names  that  ain't  our  own  names. 
Under  alleyasses." 

"  Right  O!  mate.  WeU.  git  up  onto  yer  pins — 
but  don't  try  shiftin'  yer  knife  agin  when  I  be 
along-side  ye." 

He  removed  his  weight  from  the  prostrate 
doctor,  and  that  gentleman  immediately  scrambled 
to  his  feet.  "I  feel  dazed,"  he  said.  "You 
slammed  me  down  terrible  hard,  bosun,  an' 
knocked  my  knife  galley-west.  Will  you  take  a 
look  round  for  it  while  I  shake  my  wits  together 
a  bit?" 

"  No,  doctor,  can't  say  as  how  I  will,"  returned 
Joe.  "  Far  as  I  kin  see,  yer  a  heap  safer  man  to 
travel  with  as  ye  are.  Th.it  there  accident  kinder 
shook  my  nerve." 

"You  don't  trust  me,  Joe,"  said  the  other 
mourr  .  ly. 

"  As  far  as  I  can  see  ye,  doctor,"  replied  Joe, 
cheerfully.  "  But  on  a  night  like  this  I  can't 
see  ye  at  all." 

So  they  continued  their  interrupted  journey; 
but  now  the  boatswain  walked  behind  his  friend! 
Twice,  before  they  got  out  of  the  sleeping  city, 


PAST   ADVENTURES 


211 


the  doctor  (who  still  carried  the  box)  made  a 
swift  forward  movement;  and  twice  the  boat- 
swain's big  hand  flew  out  and  gripped  the  back 
of  his  jacket. 

"  Tryin*  to  bolt  an'  leave  me?  "  asked  Joe, 
after  the  second  time  this  thing  had  happened. 

'I  stumbled,"  replied  the  doctor.  "An'  no 
wonder,  with  you  right  on  my  heels." 

Soon  they  felt  dust  under  their  feet ;  and  black, 
overhanging  ;loom  ot  walls  and  houses  ■  both 
sides  of  their  path  gave  away  to  the  paler  « .:  ;•'  :  ess 
of  the  sky.  The  two  walked  in  silence,  each  busy 
with  his  own  thoughts.  The  cook's  were  alto- 
gether selfish  and  vicious.  He  hated  the  boat- 
swain—  the  simple  mariner  whom  he  had  in- 
tended to  use  and  then  leave  bleeding  in  the 
gutter.  The  tool  had  turned  in  his  hand.  So  he 
hated  him  —  yes,  and  feared  him.  His  ribs  and 
the  back  of  his  head  were  still  sore  from  his 
recent  fall.  As  he  shuffled  along  through  the 
hot,  black  night,  he  planned  his  companion's 
undoing.  He  made  a  dozen  plans;  and  all 
seemed  admirable.  Any  one  of  them  could  be 
easily  carried  out  when  the  boatswain  was  asleep. 
In  the  meantime  he  trudged  along,  carrying  the 
box  gripped  tightly  imder  his  arm. 


\    r 

I      - 


■  I 

1;  'M 


-i  • 


bi 


l^-'l 


(  ! 


MS 


212    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

Joe  Banks  was  in  a  gloomier  frame  of  mind 
than  his  companion.     He  mistrusted  the  man  in 
front  —  after  all,  he  was  a  comparative  stranger 
—  and  regretted  the  mess-mates  whom  he  had 
left  behind  aboard  the  old  Sea  Robin.    Remorse 
stirred  in  him  for  the  evil  thing  he  had  done. 
He  had  sailed  two  voyages  with  Captain  Mann, 
and  had  always  been  treated  fairly  by  that  up- 
standing   downright    seaman.      No    doubt    the 
captain  would  get  into  a  peck  of  trouble  over  the 
loss  of  the  pearls.     As  he  shuffled  along  on  the 
heels  of    the  doctor,    putting   out   an   inquiring 
hand  now  and  then  to  make  sure  that  the  slipper 
master  of  duffs  and  stews  was  still  within  reach, 
distrust  warmed  to  dislike.     He  remembered  the 
other's  eyes  —  and  his  gorge  rose  at  the  picture. 
How  had  he  ever  been  fool  enough  to  throw  in  his 
lot  with  a  man  with  such  shifty  eyes.?    And  how 
much  were  the  pearls  worth,  anyway?    Enough  to 
make  the  risk  taken  worth  while? 

"  Look'e  here,  mate,  let  me  carry  that  there  box 
for  a  spell,"  he  said,  suddenly,  distrust  very  evi- 
dent in  his  voice. 

The  doctor  halted.  "  Hey  —  what?  "  he  whis- 
pered. 

"  Let  me  handle  the  box  awhile." 


r 


PAST   ADVENTURES 


213 


"Oh,  I  ain't  tired." 

"  Maybe  not;  but  I'll  just  try  the  heft  of  it 
for  a  mile  or  so.  The  thing's  mine  as  much  as 
yours,  I  reckon.     Hand  'er  over!  " 

Joe  Banks  possessed  himself  of  the  precious 
box;  and  if  he  had  followed  the  doctor  like  a 
shadow,  step  for  step  on  his  very  heels,  a  little 
while  before,  it  might  be  said  that  the  doctor 
now  followed  him  as  a  barnacle  follows  the  bottom 
of  a  ship  —  as  a  man's  scalp  follows  his  head.  He 
not  only  stubbed  his  toes  against  the  boatswain's 
heels,  but  he  fairly  leaned  his  chest  against  the 
leader's  back,  and  his  hands  hovered  in  the  black- 
ness on  either  side. 

"  Doctor,"  said  Joe,  "  ye've  got  altogether  too 
lovin'  all  of  a  suddent.  Get  off  my  back,  for 
mercy's  sake!  " 

"  I  ain't  on  your  back,"  returned  the  other. 
"  But  I  guess  I  have  as  good  a  right  to  keep  close 
to  you  as  you  had  to  stick  to  me." 

"  An'  safer  for  ye,  too,"  retorted  the  boat- 
swain. "  I  don't  slash  at  my  mates  with  a 
knife." 

"  You're  a  liar!  "  critd  the  doctor. 

Joe  turned  swiftly  and  clutched  him  with  one 
mighty  hand. 


J  II 


:i 


4 


I? 


214     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

"  Oh,  let  go!  "  cried  the  doctor.  "  Don't  be  a 
fool,  Joe!  What's  the  good  of  you  an'  me  falling 
out?  " 

Joe  Banks  turned,  with  a  grunt,  and  the  journey 
was  resumed. 

Dawn  found  the  two  in  a  land  of  narrow  roads 
between  vine-hung  jungles.  They  passed  two 
brown  men  leading  mules  loaded  with  sacks  of 
sugar.  They  passed  a  cluster  of  low  mud-and- 
wattle  huts,  and  a  hundred  yards  further  on 
they  came  upon  the  clearings,  bungalow,  offices 
and  boiling-house  of  a  large  sugar  estate.  They 
passed  the  open  fields  of  canes,  casava  and  coffee 
with  quick  and  furtive  steps  and  were  soon  be- 
tween the  green  walls  of  the  jtmgle  again. 

"  Breakfast  time,"  said  Joe. 

They  sat  down  at  the  edge  of  the  trail,  with  the 
box  between  them,  and  drew  food  from  their 
pockets. 

"I'm  dry,"  said  Joe,  after  he  had  dispatched 
a  hearty  meal  of  cold  victuals  of  the  doctor's  own 
cooking. 

"  An*  like  to  go  dry  'til  we  get  to  the  next 
nigger  hut,"  returned  the  doctor,  "  f or  I  ain't 
got  so  much  as  a  drop  of  liquor  on  me.  Forgot 
all  about  it  in  the  rush." 


mam 


PAST   ADVENTURES 


215 


"  Then  let's  have  a  look  at  the  pearls,"  said  the 
boatswain. 

"  Oh,  the  pearls  will  keep.  They're  safe  enough 
where  they  are." 

"  No,  not  on  yer  life.  We  want  to  look  at  'em 
—  an'  we  want  to  get  rid  o'  that  there  box.  Open 
up,  doctor,  an'  then  we  kin  each  of  us  carry  two 
o'  the  pearls." 

"  What's  yer  rush?  I  tell  you,  the  pearls  are 
all  right  where  they  are.  What  do  you  want  to 
see  'em  for,  Joe?  We'll  lug  'em  along  the  way 
they  are  until  we  come  to  a  river,  and  then  we'll 
open  up  an'  chuck  the  box  into  the  river.  Now 
we'd  better  hustle  along  or  the  police  will  be 
after  us." 

They  continued  their  journey,  the  doctor 
carrying  the  box. 

"  All  the  niggers  in  the  country '11  remember 
seein'  with   that   box  Hinder    yer    flipper," 

gru.  >  the  boatswain;  but  the  doctor  was 
undi  "  'cd.  Soon  they  came  to  a  hut  close 
beside  the  trail,  hemmed  around  on  three  sides 
by  the  green  jungle.  The  door  stood  open  upon  a 
clay  floor  and  dusky  interior. 

"  We'll  get  a  drink  here,"  said  the  doctor.  He 
stepped  to  the  doorway  and  looked  inside.    The 


.ill 


U 


li. 


fi* 


216    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

place  was  empty.  He  noticed  a  small,  low 
window  in  the  back  wall.  "  Don't  see  any  of  the 
folks,"  he  said,  grinning  at  his  companion  over  his 
shoulder,  "  but  I  do  see  a  cool  lookin'  clay  jug 
on  the  table.  Guess  I'll  just  step  inside  and 
borrow  it." 

"  An'  don't  guzzle  the  whole  of  it,  mind  ye," 
said  Joe,  leaning  wearily  against  the  mud  wall 
and  feeling  about  in  his  pockets  for  pipe  and 
tobacco.  The  doctor  ste'jped  into  the  dusky 
interior  <  >f  the  hut  and  mo-"  ed  with  loudly  stamp- 
ing feet  across  the  floor.  The  round-bellied  bottle 
of  clay  contained  water.  He  raised  it  to  his  lips, 
gulped  greedily,  tinkled  an  empty  bowl  against 
the  side  of  it.  Then,  ceasing  his  noise  quick  as 
thought,  he  slipped  over  to  the  window,  pushed 
the  box  through  and  let  it  drop  to  the  ground, 
and  hoisted  himself  to  the  sill. 

The  boatswain  had  his  pipe  in  his  hand,  and  was 
just  cornering  his  plug  of  tobacco  in  ,  deep  pocket 
of  his  canvas  trousers  when  a  sudden,  swift  sus- 
picion flashed  through  him.  Dropping  the  pipe, 
he  sprang  for  the  door  and  into  the  cabin.  The 
doctor  was  half-way  through  the  window,  wrig- 
gling outward  and  downward  in  desperate  haste. 
Only  his  feet  remained  on  the  sill,  and  his  hands 


Rj3^'rc>^^ 


PAST   ADVENTURES 


217 


were  on  the  ground,  when  the  boatswain  clutched 
him  by  the  ankles.  With  one  mighty  yank  he 
was  brought  back  into  the  room,  ciirsing  and 
struggling;  but  *ie  struck  the  clay  floor  with  a 
force  that  silenced  him.  Joe  stared  down  at  the 
limp  figure  for  a  second  or  two,  breathing  hard, 
his  grey  eyes  glinting  with  anger ;  then  he  stepped 
over  to  the  window,  reached  out  and  recovered 
the  box. 

"  Lay  where  ye  be,  ye  skunk,"  he  said.  He 
drank  thirstily  from  the  water-bottle  and  then, 
with  the  box  under  his  arm,  walked  out  of  the 
hut  and  continued  his  journey  up  the  narrow 
bridle-path.  When  the  sun  was  directly  overhead 
he  entered  a  grove  of  mahogany  trees,  found  a 
comfortable  spot  to  rest  in  that  was  hidden  from 
the  road,  ate  what  was  left  of  the  food  in  his 
pockets  and  smoked  a  meditative  pipe.  V*hile  he 
smoked  his  gaze  rested  on  the  small,  metal  box. 

"  The  doctor's  a  dirty  hound,"  he  muttered. 
"Tried  to  knife  me,  he  did  —  an'  then  tried  to 
sneak  away  with  these  here  pearls.  Hope  he  got 
such  a  bang  on  his  head  he'll  never  see  agin." 

Then,  finding  two  large  stones,  he  placed  the 
box  upon  one  of  them  and  beat  open  the  lid 
with  the  other.     Inside  the  bo.,  lay  —  nothing! 


I  J' 


it'!?  E ' 


N< 


fc 


f  -.  rf 

ii! 


218    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

It  was  empty  as  the  day  it  had  left  the  factory 
when  it  was  made.  Empty!  No  pearls!  And  yet 
a  theft  committed,  a  good  ship  deserted,  and  an 
honest  life  ruined.  For  a  long  time  the  boatswain 
knelt  under  the  mahogany  trees  and  stared  into 
the  black,  clean  interior  of  the  box,  his  lower  jaw 
sagging  and  his  eyes  protruding  in  horrified 
incredulity.  At  last  he  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a 
snarling  cry,  leaving  the  box  on  the  ground,  left 
the  grove  at  a  brisk  trot  and  headed  back  along 
the  way  he  had  come.  "  The  sly  devil!  "  he 
muttered  as  he  ran.  "  The  dirty  hound!  He  had 
a  key  all  the  time  —  an'  he  slipped  it  open  an* 
took  *em  out.  No  wonder  he  didn't  want  me 
to  look  at  'em !  No  wonder  he  wouldn't  open  the 
box  for  me  to  see!  " 

And  now  to  return  to  the  so-called  doctor,  the 
pretended  sea-cook.  Within  a  few  minutes  of  the 
time  of  the  boatswain's  departure  from  the  hut 
a  brown  woman,  scantily  clotlied  in  soiled  white, 
entered  it  and,  seeing  a  stranger,  white  and 
foreign,  sprawled  senseless  on  the  floor,  turned 
about  and  made  her  exit  at  top  speed.  But  she 
returned  in  a  few  minutes,  accompanied  by  a 
brown  man  who  smoked  a  brown  cigarette.  Just 
as  they  entered  the  hut  the  figure  on  the  floor 


M§. 


i 


PAST   ADVENTURES 


219 


began  to  move  its  sprawling  legs,  turn  its  head  a 
little,  from  side  to  side,  and  moan.  Sorely 
puzzled,  the  owners  of  the  hut  examined  the 
stranger  (gingerly,  at  first),  and  deciding  that  he 
was  not  dangerous  lifted  him  from  the  floor, 
bathed  his  face  and  head  with  water  and  then 
held  a  bowl  containing  diluted  white  rum  to  his 
lips.  The  doctor  opened  one  eye  at  the  first  sniff 
of  the  rum.  Then  he  opened  his  mouth.  But 
even  after  that  reviving  draught  he  did  not  feel 
altogether  himself  or  quite  clear  in  his  mind.  He 
fingered  the  bump  on  his  low  forehead  and  tried 
to  remember  just  how  he  had  come  by  it.  Glan- 
cing about  him,  he  noticed  the  window.  Then  he 
remembered. 

"  Where's  my  mate?  "  he  cried.  "  Where's  my 
box?  Did  you  see  big  white  sailor?  Tell  me,  you 
black  dogs,  where 's  the  bosun  gone  to?  " 

The  natives  gazed  at  him  mournfully  and  shook 
their  heads.  The  doctor,  swearing  vaguely,  tried 
to  get  to  his  feet  from  the  low  couch  upon  which 
he  had  been  lying;  but  his  brain  felt  as  if  it  were 
spinning  around  in  his  skull,  his  knees  gave  way 
and  back  he  fell. 

"  More  rum!    More  drink!  "  he  cried. 

They  understood  that  and  gave  him  more  rum 


?te 


I.: 


hi 


220    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

and  ^-ater.     He  lay  still  for  twenty  minutes  or 
so,  muttering  and  moaning,  the  while  the  native 
man  and  woman  stood  at  a  respectful  distance 
and  eyed  him  anxiously.    At  the  end  of  that  time 
he  staggered  up  and  reeled  across  the  hut  to 
where  a  long-bladed  keen-edged  cane-knife  hung 
on  the  wall.    He  took  this  down,  drew  two  silver 
dollars  from  his  pocket  and  threw  them  on  the 
floor,  and  staggered  through   the   doorway  and 
into  the  sunlit  trail,  the  heavy,  sabre-like  knife 
flashing  in  his  right  hand.    He  kept  to  the  trail  for 
a  distance  of  about  twenty  yards,  then  reeled  into 
the  jungle  and  fell.    He  got  to  his  feet  again,  curs- 
ing Hke  the  traditional  trooper,  and  again  went 
down.    The  force  with  which  his  head  had  struck 
the  clay  floor  of  the  hut  had  been  terrible,  and  the 
white  rum  had  not  helped  to  steady  the  shocked 
bram  or  the  wobbling  knees.     He  lay  flat    de- 
ciding to  wait  in  the  shade  until  his  strength  should 
return  to  him.    Then  he  would  travel  far  and  fast 
and  recover  the  dispatch-box  containing  those 
precious  pearls.       In  the   meantime,  and  quite 
unintentionally,  he   fell  asleep.      Thanks  to   his 
fatigue,  sore  head  and  the  white  rum,  he  slept  a 
long  time. 

The  boatswain  was  in  a  raging  temper  when  he 


^s^- 


■nznM^^mi 


PAST   ADVENTURES  221 

reached  the  hut,  and  the  discovery  that  the  bird 
had  flown  did  not  improve  it.    He  questioned  the 
brown  people,  by  signs  and  the  few  words  of  their 
language  that  he  knew;   and  he  learned  that  his 
mate  had  recovered,  swallowed  rum  and  water, 
possessed   himself  of  a   dangerous  weapon  and 
departed  in  an  uf^ly  mood.     Which  way  had  he 
gone?    Up  the  trail,  with  murder  in  his  eye.    Joe 
felt  puzzled  at  that  information.     If  the  doctor 
had  the  pearls,  what  was  he  angry  about?    But 
he  was  a  sly  lad,  was  the  doctor.    No  doubt  he  was 
only  pretending  to  be  angry. 


i 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

THE  WILD  MAN'S  EARLY  ADVENTURES,  CONCLUDED. 
THE  FEVER  LEAVES  DICK 

Joe  Banks  made  himself  quite  at  home  in  the 
hut  of  mud-and-wattle.     He  settled  himself  in  a 
comfortable  chair,  planked  a  silver  dollar  and  a 
ragged  milreis  note  on  the  table  and  called  for 
rum  and  cigarettes.    The  doctor  had  made  a  fool 
of  him,  beyond  a  doubt;    but,  after  all,  was  it 
not  better  so.     No  one  aboard  the  barque  had 
seen  him  leave  in  the  doctor's  company;  he  had 
not  so  much  as  set  eyes  on  the  pearls ;   his  past 
record  was  good,  and  so  the  captain  would  not 
suspect  him  of  any  more  serious  crime  than  that  of 
taking  shore-leave  under  cover  of  darkness     So 
he  decided  to  spend  the  day  quietly  and  pleas- 
antly m  the  hut,  and  if  someone  from  the  ship 
did  not  find  him  by  evening  he  would  return  and 
report  himself,  tell  a  simple  little  story,  deny  all 
knowledge  of  the  doctor,  take  his  mild  punish- 
ment like  a  lamb,  ?nd  return  to  his  duty.     His  life 
was  not  ruined  after  all.    So,  instead  of  continuing 
his  ravings  against  the  doctor,  he  fell  to  congratu- 

222 


^ve 


EARLY  ADVENTURES        223 

lating  himself  on  being  so  safely  rid  of  the  thief 
and  the  incriminating  pearls.  He  drank  to  his 
return  to  an  honest  career  in  the  biting  white  rum. 
Ho  was  so  pleased  with  himself  and  his  rescued 
virtue  (for  that  was  his  simple  way  of  looking  at 
the  matter),  that  he  congratulated  himself  often 
and  wet  each  congratulation  with  a  bumper  of  the 
native  liquor. 

The  doctor  awoke  shortly  after  sunset.    "  Guess 
I'll  not  go  any  further  to-night,"  he  said.    "  I  kin 
track  that  fool  of  a  bosun  easy  enough  to-morrow." 
So  he  got  stiffly  to  his  feet,  picked  up  his  cane- 
knife  and  started  back  for  the  hut.     He  entered 
quietly.     A  small  lamp  in  a  smoky  shade  stood 
on  the  table,  and  beside  the  table  sat  the  boat- 
swain,   eating    baked    bread-fruit    and    roasted 
chicken  and  applying  a  clay  bowl  to  his  lips  be- 
tween every  bite.      His  eyes  were  red  and  he 
rocked  unsteadily  in  his  chair.     At  the  sight  of 
him  the  doctor  forgot  his  own  weakness  and  stiff- 
ness and  the  other's  bulk.     With  a  snarling  cry 
he   raised    his   great    knife    and    sprang   toward 
the  table.     Joe  ree^    i  up  drunkenly  and  over- 
turned table,  lamp,  dishes  and  rum.    The  doctor 
tripped  and  fell  in  the  mess,  his  knife  in  the  scat- 
tered  vegetable?   and  his   forehead  against  the 


224    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


-•»  i» 


m 


edge  of  the  table     Tliu  spilled  flame  of  the  broken 
lamp  leaped  re-:  acrw  ;  the  thin  clothing  on  his 
breast.     Joe   Banks,   maddened   with  rum,   and 
blind  to  reason  and  humrn  instincts,  swung  up 
the  heavy  chair  upo- .  •  r  icL  he  had  Ijeen  seated  and 
brought  it  crashing:    "o  .n    ipon  the  other's  neck 
and   shoulders.      A'^um   he   struck   with   all   hh 
weight  —  and  agam.     T],^v.  th-  back  of  the  chair 
broke  in  his  hands  rl.c  ik      -3  leap^.l  high,  and  a 
woman  screamed.      The  boatswain   stooped  and 
turned  the  doctor  over,  singcini;  his  hands  on  the 
burning'  garments.    The  face  of  the   sly  thief  was 
the  mask  of  a  dead  man,  and  all  al    -ut  him  spoti'ed 
the    oil-fr  1.    rum- fed    flames.      Then   Joe    Bariks 
sprang  away  and  fled  into  the  darkness;  and  ho-rx 
that  tragic  moment  his  mind  knew  only  occasional 
seasons  of  sanity. 

The  boatswain  did  not  retttrn  to  the  Sea  Robin 
nor  was  he  ever  found  by  any  member  of  her 
crew.  For  da\>  he  roved  ab<jut  h(^  bush  and 
narrow  hails  behind  the  city,  hiding  m  th,  jungle 
from  dawn  till  dark  and  searching  for  food  during 
the  night  hours.  He  did  not  know  that  the  mud- 
and-wattle  hut  and  the  body  of  the  d^)ctcr  had 
burned  together  to  featurf  less  cinders.  For  days 
he  ate  nothing  but  raw  sugar-cane  and  th(  native 


EARLY   ADVENTURES        225 

fruits  He  quenched  his  thirti  with  such  water  as 
he  foun  i.  Fever  bre<l  and  ran  hot  in  his  I  ood, 
and  ]ie  would  have  K^d  i  the  bush  had  n^  t  a 
young  New  Rnglander,  part  owner  of  a  coffee 
plantation  near  by,  fo  ind  him  and  <  rried  him  to 
his  bungalow.  I U  an*  his  nartner,  an  Er^glishma 
nursed  th  unf<  inatt  marine,  a^-k  to  a  normal 
temp'ratufr;  uui  thi  ^\..ild 
sickness  o.  his  urnd.  \  "er 
spent  a  mo  .rh  on  Uu-  Ui  -it) 
jobs.     Tie  v.-is  har  y  wrh   ' 


sat  sfactfry    ^its 
trt   led,  nn     lean 
two  plan:ers      I 
'.vith  hi    lew  ^>Ob 
a  few  loiiars  ir 
m<mo-    s  of 
him  on.    H 
called  in  hi 


t   c»rrect   the 

reco-ery,   Joe 

^orl     ;g  at  odd 

am       id  some 

rp      ry.     He  w  ^  kindly 

to  feel  warmly  toward  the 

^ne  night  be  slipped  away, 

ssions  in  a  bundle  on  his  back 

s  p(x:ket  and  fleeting  but  vi-  ■> 

lan  he  had  murdered  driving 

traveilec     lindly,  and  something  that 

rt  brought  him,  after  many  days, 


to  the  sea.  A-  last  he  found  a  port,  and  a  north- 
bound arqui  itine  short  of  hands.  So  he  shipped 
t  rinj,  )ne  of  his  infrequent  intervals  of  sanity), 
^or  i  he  lor^  vo  age  to  Quebec,  in  Canada.  Though 
le  did  hi  v  - k  well,  having  lost  none  of  his 
knowledge  seamanship,  the  captain  and  mate 
and  his  companions  in  the  forecastle  soon  dis- 


Iff  ,; 


226    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

covered  his  trouble.  But  he  was  a  good  sailor  and 
did  not  seem  dangerous,  so  the  captain  decided 
to  do  nothing  until  Quebec  was  reached.  "  Then 
I  U  hand  him  over  to  the  authorities,  and  they'll 
Clap  the  poor  devil  into  a  mad-house.  no  doubt  " 
he  said  to  the  mate. 

During  that  long  voyage  (which  was  broken 
for  a  period  of  two  weeks  at  the  little  island  of 
Barbados,  where  the  barquentine   stumped   her 
ballast  of  sand  and  took  on  a  cargo  of  molasses) 
Joe  Banks  spoke  often  of  his  old  mate  the  doctor 
Of  course  he  did  not  mention  the  particulars  of 
that  gentleman's  untimely  end.     All  his  hearers 
could  gather  on  the  subject  was  that  he  had 
at  some  stage  of  his  hidden  career,  been  on  very 
intimate  terms  with  a  doctor  who  had  a  weakness 
for  rum  and  who  was  not  above  cooking  stews 
on  occasion;  so  they  got  the  idea  into  their  simple 
heads  that  the  big  crazy  man  had  once  been  in  a 
position  to  mix.  in  terms  of  equality,  with  the 
professional   classes."     The   mate  was  deeply 
impressed  by  this.    "  Like  as  not.  sir."  said  he  to 
^e  captain.  "  he's  a  person  of  some  importance. 
We  11  certainly  have  to  hand  him  over  to  the 
right  people  for  such  cases  when  we  get  to  Quebec  " 
i-ong  before  the  mouth  of  the  St.  Lawrence 


V-  -^.nM 


UK    KAN-    DOWN    A    VOING    MOOSE. 


I: 


:  I 


h 

1 

•,"         \      :' 

1 

1,;r: 

it 

r 

k 

l. 

;/«s%i^IP 


EARLY  ADVENTURES        227 

River  was  reached,  something  of  the  captain's 
and  mate's  intentions  toward  him  had  come  to 
Joe's  ears.    "  They'll  put  me  in  jail,"  he  thought. 
"  They've  found  out  about  the  doctor."    But  he 
kept  along  at  his  work  and  did  not  mention  his 
fears  to  any  one.    At  last  the  barquentine  reached 
the  gulf  and  entered  the  great  river.    On  the  night 
of  the  second  day  on  the  river  she  lay  close  in  to 
the  northern  shore.    Then  Joe  Banks  made  a  neat 
bundle  of  his  modest  belongings,  helped  himself 
to  a  tin  kettle  and  such  food  as  he  could  find  in  the 
galley,  cut  away  and  lowered  the  smallest  of  the 
boats  and  rowed  ashore.    He  set  the  boat  adrift 
as  soon  as  his  feet  were  on  the  sands,  and  without 
a  backward  look  entered  that  vast  and  unknown 
wilder;'ess.     He  was  without  fire-anns  and  his 
supp-y  of  food  was  insufficient  for  longer  than  a 
few  days;   but,  crazy  as  he  was,  he  was  full  of 
resources.      He    was    mad,    and    loneliness    and 
unknown  dangers  held  no  terrors  for  him.     The 
privations  through  which  he  passed  without  in- 
jury would  have  killed  a  sane  man.    He  ate  berries 
and  killed  grouse  and  hares  with  stones.    He  ran 
down  a    -^ung  moose,  killed  it  with  his  knife, 
smoked   ;      ;sh  and  made  moccasins  and  clothing 
of  its  hiov  —  for  he  had  his  sail-needles,  palm  and 


i  1 


14- 

lie 


li  o^ 


\n: 


.1 


'I 


If  -  i"- 


* 


228    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

waxed  threud  in  his  ditty-bag.    He  found  a  young 
panther   m  a   niountain-cave,    slew   its   devoted 
mother,  and  took  possession  of  the  cave  for  that 
first  winter.     He  tamed  the  young  panther  and 
taught  it  to  hunt  for  him.    When  spring  came,  he 
continued  his  aimless  journey,  accompanied  by  the 
half.grown  panther.    Within  five  years  of  leaving 
the  ship  he  established  himself  in  the  den  from 
which  his  expeditions  were  made  that  brought  him 
to  the  notice  of  Dick  Ramsey  and  Sober  Sam; 
and  year  by  year  during  ibat  time  his  periods 
of  sanity  had  become  briefer  and  less  frequent. 
But  he  was  a  master  of  wood -craft  now,  and  even 
without  the  help  of  fire-arms  was  able  to  wrest  a 
living  from  the  wilderness.    He  was  a  master  of 
the  wild  even  as  the  wolves  and  bears  were  masters 
of  It;    but,  being  a  man,  he  was  master  of  the 
beasts  as  well.     Cold,  starvation,  accident  and 
illness  were  the  menaces  that  lurked  in  the  gloomy 
forests  for  him.    Of  the  animals  he  had  nothing 
to  fear,  for  he  was  the  master-animal  of  them  aU 
—  a  reasoner  (in  his  mad  way) ;   an  animal  with 
hands;  the  possessor  of  fire  and  edged  tools;  the 
owner  of  a  mind  that  could  teach  a  mountain- 
panther  to  do  his  bidding  —  to  hunt  and  share  its 
kill  with  him. 


EARLY   ADVENTURES        229 

One  morning  Dick  awoke  and  found  both  Joe 
Banks  and  Billy  the  panther  seated  before  the 
fire.  Though  his  recollections  of  the  past  few  days 
were  hazy  and  fragmentary  his  eyes  and  mind 
were  clear  enough  now. 

"I  am  hungry,"  he  said.  "  What  have  you 
got  to  eat?  " 

The  wild  man,  who  was  suffering  a  season  of 
sanity  at  the  moment,  approached  the  couch. 
He  felt  the  lad's  face  and  hands  and  looked  into 
his  eyes.  "  The  fever  has  left  ye,"  he  said.  "  It 
has  biu-ned  itself  out.  But  ye  must  have  a  care, 
lad.    I'll  make  ye  some  rabbit  soup." 

"  Good.  And  please  be  as  quick  about  it  as 
you  can,"  returned  Dick.  '•  I  feel  as  empty  as 
a  drum.  But  what's  troubling  you,  Joe?  You 
look  as  solemn  as  an  owl." 

"  I  don't  feel  extra  gay,"  admitted  the  wild  man, 
sullenly.  "  This  ain't  what  ye'd  call  a  gay  life, 
Dick  —  a-livin'  up  in  this  here  God-knows- 
where  country  with  a  wild  beast  for  a  mess- 
mate." 

"  You  are  right.  It  can't  be  lively.  You  must 
join  us  at  the  shack." 

"Oh!  I  reckon  I  be  happy  enough  between 
times,"  said  the  wild  man,  uneasily.    '*  It's  when 


230    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


W 


ift;t 

111' 

tr'j 

i 


I   remembers  things  —  all  kinder  old  things  — 
that  I  feel  bad." 

He  returned  to  the  "ire,  cut  half  a  hare  into 
fragments,  which  he  placed  in  the  rusty  kettle  to 
stew,  tossed  the  other  half  of  the  Httle  animal 
to  the  panther  and  then  left  the  cave  for  more 
wood.  When  he  returned  to  the  den,  a  few  min- 
utes later,  he  was  the  cheerful,  grinning  lunatic 
again,  his  memories  dimmed  and  distorted  by  a 
foolish  mist  and  his  conscience  untroubled.  He 
placed  a  few  sticks  on  the  fire,  sniffed  at  the  boil- 
ing meat  in  the  kettle,  scratched  the  top  of  the 
panther's  head,  and  at  last  seated  himself  on 
the  floor  beside  Dick.  "  I  reckon  ye  feel  better, 
lad,"  he  said.  "  Well,  I  be  glad  of  it,  for  this 
here  fever  kills  more  men  nor  rum.  Aye,  ye  may 
lay  to  that  —  though  rum  has  killed  a  fair  few, 
here  an'  there.  There  was  the  doctor,  now.  We 
sailed  a  v'yage  together,  him  an'  me  —  an'  'twas 
rum  killed  him  —  white  rum.  Aye,  that's  so 
—  but  I  don't  rightly  remember  just  how  it  come 
about." 

"  How  is  the  soup  doing?  "  asked  Dick.     "  I 
could  drink  a  gallon  of  it." 

"  Soup'll  soon  be  ready, "  returned  Joe.    "  Wish 
it  was  pea-soup." 


EARLY  ADVENTURES        231 

"  Why  did  you  leave  the  sea?  "  asked  the  other. 

The  wild  man  glanced  at  him  sharply.  "  I 
don't  rightly  remember  —  an'  sometimes,  lad,  I 
ain't  certain  as  I  have  left  her.  Tis  only  two 
nights  ago  —  sure  as  I  sailed  bosun  aboard  the 
Sea  Robin  —  I  heard  six  bells  go,  natural  as  life. 
An'  sometimes  I  hear  the  doctor  —  him  as  was 
mixed  up  with  me  in  a  matter  o'  a  little  rum  ashore 
—  knockin'  the  pans  and^jots  about  in  the  galley. 
Aye,  lad,  all  as  natural  as  life,  an'  ye  may  lay  to 
that.  An'  I  hear  the  surf  every  day  —  boom  an' 
crash  —  boom  an'  crash  —  just  Uke  it  runs  into 
the  reefs  in  them  little  islands  I  ust  to  sail  to. 
So  I  reckon  I'll  sign  on  c*gin,  some  day,  with  Cap'n 
Mann  o'  the  Sea  Robin." 

"  That  soup  must  be  cooked  by  this  time,"  said 
Dick.  "  Man  alive,  I  can  smell  it.  It'll  spoil 
if  you  boil  it  any  longer.  Dish  it  up,  man,  dish  it 
up.  Pass  the  kettle  along.  Let  me  have  a  swig 
at  it." 

"  'Tain't  what  ye'd  rightly  call  cooked,"  re- 
turned Joe,  examining  the  contents  of  the  kettle, 
"  but  as  ye  be  in  such  a  way  for  it,  lad,  here  goes." 
He  poured  the  bowl  full  of  the  hot,  thin  liquid 
in  which  floated  a  few  fragments  of  half-cooked 
flesh.    Dick  sat  up  weakly,  clasped  the  wooden 


K 


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{  I 

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232    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

bowl  in  both  hands,  sipped  eagerly  but  gingerly 
until  a  httle  of  the  heat  was  gone  from  the  soup, 
and  then  put  away  the  balance  in  five  great  gulps. 
Then  he  forked  up  the  pieces  of  meat  with  his 
fingers  and  devoured  them  with  relish. 

"  Fine!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Best  broth  I  ever 
tasted !  There  is  more  in  the  kettle,  Joe.  Give  me 
some  more." 

The  ex-boatswain  shook  his  head  and  grinned. 
"  No,  ye  don't,"  said  he.  *'  Ye  can't  come  round 
Joe  Banks  with  none  o'  that  talk.  I've  seen  fever 
afore,  I  have  —  an'  many  a  good  lad  go  as  much  as 
half  a  v'yage,  maybe,  without  so  much  as  a  bite 
o'  Christian  food,  an'  then  start  in,  all  of  a  sudden, 
an'  bust  himself  with  eatin'.  Aye,  lad,  that's 
gospel.  Ye  may  Liy  to  that.  Queer  thing,  fever. 
Ye '11  get  no  more  o'  that  there  soup  afore  the 
sun  crosses  the  yard-arm." 

"  Oh!  don't  be  a  fool,"  said  Dick.  "  To  hear 
you  talk  one  would  think  you  were  a  doctor. 
How's  a  little  soup  —  just  another  little  cupfull 
—  going  to  hurt  me?  It  wasn't  much  stronger 
than  water,  anyway.  Weakest  stuff  I  ever  swal- 
lowed. Come  on,  Joe  —  one  more  bowlfuU! 
Just  one,  there's  j  good  chap.    Buck  up!  " 

"  Ye'd  better  lay  down  an'  shut  yer  hatch,"  re- 


-Xi^^i^iv^'-'  "ai'«w"T*'''wi*'r'  •■■?*  m- 


EARLY  ADVENTURES        233 

turned  Joe.  "  That's  soup  what  is  soup  —  alto- 
gether too  strong  for  a  sick  man  what's  just  es- 
capin'  f'-m  the  brink  o'  a  feverish  grave.  Nay, 
lad,  ye've  had  yer  breakfast  —  an'  I  must  say  ye 
gulped  it  most  unmannerly.  Reg'lar  fo'castle 
manners,  I  must  say.  But  if  ye '11  lay  quiet  for  a 
little  while,  lad,  I'll  give  'e  some  more  afore  long." 

"  How  soon?  "  inquired  Dick,  fretfully. 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  replied  Joe,  "  just  as  soon 
as  I  come  below  agin.  It  be  bosun's  watch  on 
deck,  now." 


f 


m 


r  s:  •: 

■ ,  1    I 


CHAPTER    XIX 

SOBER  SAM's  troubles  AND  ANXIETY.  HE  SETS 
OUT,  AT  LAST,  TO  OOK  FOR  HIS  VANISHED 
PARTNER.       A   QUEER   MEETING 

To  go  back  to  Sober  Sam,  in  the  shack  at  the 
lower  end  of  Two-Fox  Pond.  After  Dick's  de- 
parture, the  old  fellow  pulled  his  blankets  about 
him  and  resigned  himself  to  meditation.  This 
was  all  very  well  for  a  few  hours;  but  noon  and 
hunger  awoke  him  to  activity  —  that  is,  to  par- 
tial activity.  His  reflective  peace  was  broken. 
He  lay  and  grumbled  for  another  hour,  then  got 
slowly  from  his  bunk  and  hopped  over  to  the  fire 
on  his  sound  foot,  the  other  hanging  unsupported 
and  aching  dully.  Hopping  here  and  there,  resting 
frequently  and  grumbling  without  cause,  he 
managed  to  make  a  pot  of  tea  and  cook  a  scrap  of 
dinner.  With  this  and  his  pipe  he  returned  to  his 
blankets.  The  hours  crawled  past  and  the  wintry 
twilight  touched  the  little  window.  Darkness 
came,  but  did  not  bring  Dick  Ramsey.  The  old 
trapper's  complaints  grew  louder  and  stronger. 

Again  he  left  his  bunk;  and  this  time  he  lit  the 

234 


SOBER  SAM'S  TROUBLES  235 

lantern  and  set  it  in  the  window.  He  hopped  to 
the  door  and  gazed  into  the  outer  darkness.  "  I 
guess  dat  dam  young  idjit  has  gone  huntin'  for 
dat  fief,"  he  muttered.  "  He  too  a'mighty 
brave."  He  forgot  to  eat  any  supper  and  kept 
awake  all  night,  suffering  greatly  from  anxiety 
for  his  partner  and  not  a  little  from  his  cut  foot. 
At  the  lifting  of  dawn  he  fell  asleep,  and  lay  in  the 
grasp  of  uncomfortable  dreams  of  bad  medicine 
and  snarling  panthers  for  several  hours. 

Sober  Sam  passed  the  day  in  a  fever  of  helpless 
anxiety.     By  afternoon  he  was  convinced  that 
some  grave  misfortune  had  befallen  his  partner 
—  that  some  one  of  the  grim  dangers  of  the  winter- 
wilderness  had  found  him.    And  here  he  was  in  the 
shack,  as  useless  as  if  chains  of  iron  bound  him  to 
the  log  walls.     He  could  not  put  his  foot  to  the 
ground.    He  could  only  hop  about  the  shack  and 
picture  a  hundred  terrible  things.     He  was  fond 
of  the  young  EngHshman.    Dick  was  his  partner, 
his  friend,  his  comrade  in  Ion-  liness  and  hardships. 
It  almost  drove  him  mad  to  keep  to  the  shack 
while  Dick  might  be  dying  for  need  of  him.    He 
kept  a  sharp  look-out  at  door  and  window  and 
fired  his  rifle  many  times  for  a  signal.    Thoughts 
of  the  man  in  the  bear  skin  and  of  his  companion 


^;i 


■^  M 


236    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

the  panther  haunted  him.  What  deviltry  had 
these  two  committed  ?  The  day  passed,  and  an- 
other restless  night.  In  the  morning  he  fed  the 
fire  with  the  last  of  the  wood  in  the  shack.  Then 
he  bound  his  lame  foot  in  a  blanket  and  hopped 
out,  axe  in  hand.  After  two  hours  of  suffering  and 
severe  toil  he  had  enough  wood  cut  and  collected 
to  feed  the  fire  for  another  night  and  day.  He 
returned  to  his  bunk  and  slept  heavily  until  long 
past  noon. 

The  work  of  wood-cutting  and  water-carrying 
put  the  healing  of  Sam's  foot  back  for  a  week  at 
least.    But  anxiety  did  him  more  harm  than  the 
suffering  in  his  foot.    The  days  and  nights  dragged 
along.      "Guess   Dick    i     dead,"   he   muttered. 
"  But  I'll  go  see,  anyhow,  soon's  I  kin  put  on 
two  racquets.    An'  maybe  I  fin'  what  killed  'im 
—  an'  den  I  guess  I  settle  for  dat,  you  bet !    Dick, 
he  darn  fine  man  —  jes'  like  brother  to  me.    Guess 
I  raise  hell  a  little  bit  in  dis  country  if  somebody 
kill  my  frien'  Dick."    Though  his  foot  had  been 
paining  him  more  than  usual  for  the  past  three 
days,  he  now  discovered  that  he  could  touch  it 
to  the  grotmd  and  even  put  some  of  his  weight 
on  it.    But  the  muscles  of  his  iminjured  leg,  over- 
strained of  late  by  doing  double  service,  pained 


SOBER  SAM'S  TROUBLES  237 


him  a  good  deal.  Since  Dick's  departure,  Sam  had 
not  once  thought  of  the  traps.  What  were  a 
hundred  pelts  —  even  a  hundred  of  the  priceless 
black  fox  —  to  the  hfe  of  a  brother?  One  day 
Sam  spent  a  good  part  of  the  afternoon  in  working 
with  one  of  his  racqu  :  5.  He  set  in  new  thongs, 
weaving  them  strongly,  making  an  extra  loop  for 
the  toe  that  was  almost  as  wide  as  the  frame.  He 
did  not  skimp  the  work,  for  a  great  deal  depended 
on  its  success.  Beneath  the  new  toe-loop  he  re- 
inforced the  netting  of  the  racquet  with  extra 
thongs.  That  done,  he  set  to  work  to  make  a 
mammoth  moccasin  of  moose  hide  and  blanket  for 
his  sore  foot.  It  was  big  enough  for  two  ordinary 
feet  -  for  Sam  had  no  int-  n  ion  of  letting  the 
frost  get  at  his  weak  spot.  Je  ^jv.  >  the  moccasin 
roujj[hly  but  strongly.  It  w?,?  'Ui.slifd  by  supper 
time. 

Sam  was  early  astir  next  morning,  though  the 
lift  of  the  new  day  brov^ht  no  lightness  of  hope 
to  his  heart.  Leaving  his  blankets  in  the  morn- 
ing was  now  nothing  more  cheerful  than  a  matter 
of  duty  —  of  painful  duty.  He  cooked  and  ate 
a  good  breakfast,  made  a  pack  of  food,  sleeping- 
bag  and  blankets,  filled  his  cartridge-belt,  cleaned 
his  rifle  and  whet  his  axe.    Then  he  clothed  him- 


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238    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

self  warmly,  dressed  his  wounded  ioot  as  usual  — 
in  two  woollen  socks,  a  felt  stocking  and  a  moose- 
lined  moccasin  — and  got  the  tender  member 
ready  for  the  trail.  Over  the  inner  bandage  he 
drew  a  stocking  of  fine  wool,  over  this  two  woollen 
socks,  then  a  larger  stocking  of  Dick's,  then  a  felt 
stocking,  then  a  sort  of  shapeless  blanket  case 
which  he  tied  at  the  knee,  and  last  of  all  the  new 
mammoth  moccasin.  Now  he  put  on  his  racquets 
—  the  one  with  the  reinforced  mesh  and  wide 
toe-strap  on  the  lame  foot  —  shouldered  his  pack, 
rifle  and  axe  and  left  the  shack. 

Sam  travelled  slowly  and  rested  often,  taking 

no  chances  with  his  weak  foot.    He  was  glad  to 

find  that  it  carried  him  well  and  gave  very  little 

trouble.    He  set  his  course  straight  up  the  middle 

of  the  lake,  where  the  way  was  level  as  a  table. 

His  intention  was  to  hunt  for  the  headquarters 

of  the  poacher  in  the  bear  skin  and  from  that 

formidable  person  demand  information  of  Dick, 

He  felt  convinced  that  the  wild  man  or  the  panther 

knew  what  had  happened  to  his  partner;    and 

he  meant  to  find  out  what  they  knew  —  and 

act   accordingly.     All   fear   of  that   mysterious 

pair  had  left  him.    The  only  fear  that  he  felt  now 

was  that  he  should  never  again  see  and  speak  to 


SOBER  SAM'S  TROUBLES    239 

young  Dick  Ramsey.    He  reached  the  swamp  at 
the  upper  end  of  the  lake  without  mishap,  and 
there  rested  for  the  third  time  since  leaving  the 
shack.     "  Plenty  of  time,"  he  murmured.     "  No 
hurry.     Guess  ray  ca'tridges  'ill  keep  a  night. 
Guess  I'll  be  soon  enough  for  dat  dam  t'ief,  any- 
how.   He  won't  scare  me  to-day  you  bet!  "    So 
he  smoked  his  pipe  and  rested  his  foot  for  a  good 
half  hour.    When  he  started  on  his  way  again  he 
moved  even  more  slowly  than  before,  owing  to 
the  roughness  of  the   "  going  "  in  the  tangled 
swamp.    He  kept  a  sharp  lookout  overhead,  under 
foot  and  on  every  side.    Snow  had  fallen  during 
the  night,  so  he  was  sure  of  making  no  mistake 
between  old  tracks  and  new.    Sometimes  he  halted, 
squatted   with   his   weight   on   his   sound   foot, 
and  listened  intently.    Where  the  tangled  thickets 
of  the  swamp  rise  to  the  opened  glades  of  the  forest 
he  came  upon  the  famihar  tracks  of  the  round 
snow  shoes.    They  were  leading  into  the  swamp, 
at  a  point  a  few  hundred  yards  away  from  that 
at  which  he  had  come  out ;  but  their  stubby  tails 
pointed  in  the  direction  of  Wigwam  Mountain. 
Sober  Sam  glanced  about  him  cautiously.    ' '  Guess 
I  don't  foller  'm,"  he  muttered.    "  Guess  I  know 
de  way  he  come  from  —  an'  maybe  find  his  shack 


(t^j 


Pi 
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i     * 


240    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

and  wait  for  him  to  come  home.    He  t'ink  dat 
a'mighty  good  joke,  maybe." 

So  Sam  took  the  back  trail  of  the  round  lac- 
quets  and  plodded  slowly  onward    towards    the 
shaggA'  flanks  of  old   Wigwam.     But  he  halted 
frequently  and  looked  back.     The  lower  slopes 
of  the  mountain  were  still  a  long  half  mile  distant 
when  Sam  felt  the  need  of  another  rest.    He  low- 
ered his  pack  from  his  shoulder,  sat  down  on  it 
and  filled  and  lit  his  pipe.     He  had  chosen  his 
position  for  resting  at  a  point  from  which  he  had 
a  clear  view  of  the  trail  for  about  fifty  yards  in 
each  direction.    The  air  was  bitterly  cold  but  the 
sun  shone  brightly.    Sam  smoked  calmly,  gazing 
placidly  around  as  if  he  liad  come  out  for  no  other 
purpose  than  to  admire  the  landscape ;  but  across 
the  knee  lay  his  rifle,  uncased.     He  was  about  to 
knock  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  when  the  man  he 
was  looking  for  entered  his  range  of  vision,  tram- 
pling on  his  round  snow  shoes  in  the  very  imprints 
of    Sam's    longer    and    more    graceful    racquets. 
Yes,  it  was  the  wild  man!    His  head  was  bent,  as 
if  he  inspected  the  trail.     The  great  bear  skin 
hung  like  a  cloak  from  his  broad  shoulders.     His 
absurd  racquets  lifted  and  dipped  like  the  webbed 
feet  of  a  water-bird. 


SOBER  SAM'S  TROUBLES  241 

Sam,  at  the  first  shock,  let  his  pipe  fall  to  the 
snow;  but  h^  stooped  immediately,  recovered  it 
and  stowed  it  away  in  his  pocket.  Then,  smiling 
grimly,  he  got  to  his  feet,  faced  the  approaching 
wild  man  squarely  and  raised  his  rifle.  The  thief 
came  on,  his  head  bent,  his  eyes  intent  on  the 
trail.  He  recognized  the  tracks  as  those  of  Sam  s 
snow-shoes,  and  his  poor,  flighty  misty  brain 
was  'rtruggling  with  an  association  of  ideas.  He 
knew  he  had  seen  and  followed  these  same  tracks 
before.  They  suggested  tobacco  —  yes,  and  they 
suggested  the  lad  back  in  the  cave.  But  they 
were  not  Dick's  tracks.  They  could  not  be 
Dick's  tracks.  Ah,  he  remembered  the  little 
brown  fellow  now  —  Dick's  mate  in  the  big  shack. 
That  was  a  little  man  who  smoked  such  good, 
strong  tobacco.  He  must  get  some  more  of  that 
tobacco  soon.  Yes,  he  must  make  a  trip  to  the 
shack  to-morrow  —  if  he  didn't  forget.  He  raised 
his  head,  saw  Sobtr  Sam  in  the  trail,  and  halted. 
He  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  then  gave  vent  to 
that  terrible,  unearthly  peal  of  laughter. 

"  You  shut  up!  "  exclaimed  Sam.  "  You  can't 
scar'  me  no  more.  You  jes'  the  feller  I  was  lookin' 
for.  You  better  not  try  to  run,  neither,  or  you 
get  shot.     Yes,  you  bet." 


M 


f   i4 


i::|i 


242    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

The  wild  man  stopped  laughing  and  grinned 
silently   instead.     He   looked   harmless,    though 
decidedly   "balmy."     Sam  moved  toward  him, 
slowly,   cautiously,   his  rifle  ready.     Ihe   other- 
trembled,  but  held  his  ground.    He  wanted  to  run, 
and  scream,  and  laugh;    but  he  also  wanted  to 
know  what  the  chances  were  for   a  pipefull  of 
tobacco  and  if  the  little  brown  man  had  even 
met  the  "  doctor  "  and  what  he  had  to  do  with 
Dick.      His    curiosity    was    stronger    than    his 
idiotic   desire  to  run  and  set  the  woods  ringing 
with  his  mad  laughter.     He  remembered  noth- 
ing of  his   former  dealings  with  Sam  —  of  the 
mad   chase   through  the  woods  and   the   many 
bullets   that   had   gone   wide  — though    he    had 
recognized  the  prints  of  the  trapper's  snow-shoes 
at  a  glance.      His  was  a  madness  entirely  with- 
out method.     All  his  crimes  against  Dick  and 
Sam  had  been  committed  in  innocence,  though 
with  wonderful  cunning.     He  had  never  visited 
the  shack  openly  because  a  shyness  of  humans  had 
grown  in  him  of  which  he  was  unconscious.     But 
he  had   become  used  to  Dick  — and   this   little 
brown   man   was   in   some   way    or   other    con- 
nected with  Dick.     In  the   matter  of  frvghten- 
ing  the  partners  and  robbing  their  traps  the  pan- 


SOBER  SAM'S  TROUBLES  243 


ther  had  been  a  more  intentional  offender  than 
the  mad  sailor. 

As  Sober  Sam  drew  near,  the  poor  ex-boatswain 
began  to  stammer  and  lick  his  lips.  He  looked 
very  foolish  and  very  harmless. 

"  Got  any  baccy,  mate?  "  he  asked.  "  My 
pipe's  bin  cold  a  long  time." 

"  You  take  me  to  your  shack  and  maybe  I  give 
you  some  tobac,"  replied  Sam. 

"  Did  'e  ever  sail  shipmates  with  a  lad  called  the 
doctor?  "  inqviired  Joe. 

Sam  shook  his  head.  "  Never  sailed  with  no- 
body," said  he.  "What  you  talk  about  ship 
for?  " 

"  Reckon  ye  sailed  a  v'yage  with  Dick,  didn't 
ye,  mate?  " 

"  Dick?  What  you  know  about  Dick?  You 
tell  me  pretty  quick '    Maybe  you  kill  'im!  " 

"  You  wrong,  mate.  What  d've  think  I'd  kill 
him  for  —  him  or  any  other  man?  Joe  Banks 
don't  kill  men,  ye  may  lay  to  that  Dick's  had 
yeller-jack,  he  has  —  an'  he'd  be  dead  now,  an* 
ti})pcd  off  the  hatch  into  the  sea  but  for  my  doc- 
terin'.  Aye,  that's  gospe-1.  Will  you  give  me 
one  plug  o'  baccy  if  i  show  vou  where  Dick 
is?  " 


'«idd 


'IT 


•i 


■^  *i 


^ 


244    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

"  Give  3  ou  two  plugs,  maybe  —  if  you  show  me 
Dick  a'right." 

"One  pipefuU  now,  mate,"  begged  Joe,  grin- 
ning hopefully  and  producing  his  black  clay  from 
somewhere  in  his  shaggy  clothing.  "  One  pipe 
now,  mate  —  an'  then  we'll  go  see  Dick." 

"You  t'ief  plenty  tobac  from  me  a'ready," 
said  Sam.  "  An'  you  rob  my  traps,  too,  an'  run 
me  through  de  woods  one-time.  WTiat  for  you 
do  dat?  " 

The  wild  man  shook  his  head.  "  Ye  must  be 
dreamin',  mate,"  he  said.  "Joe  Banks  don't 
rob  baccy  nor  traps  from  any  man.  The  doctor, 
now  -  well  ye  might  call  him  a  thief  an'  make 
no  mistake." 

"Where  dis  doctor,  anyhow?"  asked  Sam, 
glancing  apprehensively  around. 

"  Oh,  he's  dead,"  said  Joe.  "  Darn  good  thing 
too."  ^' 

"  Guess  .so,"  returned  the  trapper.  "  But  where 
dat  darn  painter?  " 

"  Painter?  " 

"  Big  cat.     Big  cat  what  you  hunt  with." 

"Oh!  Bill.  \^^11,  mate,  Bill's  below,  a  lookin' 
after  Dick.     I  name  him  Bill  because  —  " 

"  You  take  me  quick!  "  cried  Sam.     "  Quick! 


vv,  ■    ;:^,-?.-^^-'--:r,^-%;^--"'^:r--vv:-?-^:-^;r*a.'t.v  :v^ 


SOBER  SAM'S  TROUBLES  245 


Turn  round.     Maybe   he   chaw   Dick   dis  very 
minute.   Turn  round,  quick !  Light  out  for  home ! " 

The  wild  man  gazed  at  him  blankly  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  turned  with  a  shrill  yell  and  bounded 
away  along  the  trail  —  away  from  the  mountain, 
away  from  Dick.  Sam  saw  his  mistake  in  a  flash 
and  started  after  him,  leaving  his  pack  in  the  snow. 
That  he  had  frightened  the  poor,  crazy  fellow 
was  easy  to  see.  "  You  come  back,"  he  yelled. 
"  Dat  a'right.  Plenty  good  tobac  for  you.  You 
come  back." 

But  Joe  Banks  was  well  started  in  panicky 
flight,  and  even  the  magic  word  "tobac  "  could 
not  stop  him  while  he  was  going  at  top  speed. 
Sam  ran  well,  carrying  only  his  rifle;  but  for 
speed  he  was  no  match  for  the  wild  man  on  the 
round  racquets.  The  trapper  ran  like  a  human 
and  the  other  like  some  leaping  animal;  the  one 
like  a  man  with  a  game  leg  and  the  other  like  a 
sound -limbed  stag. 

"  Hoi'  on!  Hoi'  on!  "  yelled  Sam.  "  Plenty 
tobac.     Plenty  tobac." 

But  Joe  did  not  slacken  his  pace;  and  Sam 
snicked  a  cartridge  from  the  loaded  magazine  of 
his  rifie  into  the  breech.  He  meant  business. 
He  had  no  intention  of  losing  this  connecting 


iiy 


■  i  : 


246    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

link  with  Dick's  fate  and  whereabouts  for  lack 
of  a  little  blood-shed.  But,  just  as  he  raised  the 
rifle,  a  happy  accident  brought  the  wild  man  to  a 
sudden  halt.    He  had  dropped  his  precious  pipe. 


CHAPTER    XX 


SOBER    SAM    FINDS 


HIS     PARTNER, 
FRIGHT 


JOB     GBTS    A 


The  wild  man's  clay  pipe,  which  he  had  taken 
from  its  hiding  place  in  the  expectation  of  ob- 
taining some  tobacco  from  Sober  Sam,  and  which 
he  had  kept  in  his  hand  diiring  his  unreasonable 
flight,  had  slipped  from  his  fingers  and  fallen  into 
the  soft  snow  beside  the  trail.  He  stopped  short, 
turned  like  a  dodging  hare  and  with  a  low  cry  of 
consternation  began  to  search  for  the  precious 
thing.  He  knelt,  pulled  his  fur  mittens  from  his 
hands  and  fumbled  about  in  the  snow.  At  that 
si^ht,  the  trapper  lowered  his  rifle  and  slowed  his 
pace  to  a  walk.  "  Better  keep  cool,"  he  muttered. 
"  Dat  crazy  feller  scar'  a'mighty  o/oick  —  quicker 
nor  he  ever  scar'  me."  So  he  advanced  calmly 
until  within  a  yard  of  the  crouching  ex-boatswain. 

"  You  lose  somethin*?  "  he  inquired.  "  Yoa 
lose  pipe  maybe." 

"  Aye,  mate,  my  pipe  took  a  hop  out  o'  my 
fingers,"  replied  Joo,  without  looking  up.    "  Onlv 

247 


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(• 

If' 


248    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

pipe  I  got,  too.    She  dropped  somewheres  about 
here,  I'm  thinkin'.    Lend  a  hand,  mate." 

Sam  took  a  careful  sur^'ey  of  the  snow  at  the 
side  of  the  trail.  About  three  feet  further  out 
than  where  the  wild  man  was  clawing  like  a  dog 
unearthing  a  bone,  he  marked  a  short  narrow 
cut  in  the  otherwise  flawless  surface.  He  stepped 
out,  sank  hand  and  arm  and  produced  the  pipe. 
"  Dis  your  pipe.  I  guess,"  he  said,  passing  it  over 
to  its  delighted  owner.  "  Mighty  fine  pipe,  you 
bet.  Guess  we  have  one  little  smoke  now  afore 
we  go  see  Dick." 

He  drew  a  plug  of  tobacco  from  his  pocket,  his 
knife  from  his  belt,  and  shaved  off  enough  of  the 
fragrant  pressed  leaf  to  fill  two  pipes.  Joe  Banks 
watched  the  operation  with  grinning  jaws  and 
dancing  eyes.  Soon  both  pipes  were  alight  and 
blue  wisps  trailed  upward  in  the  sunlit  air. 

"  Now  we'll  sit  down,  mate,  an*  yarn  a  bit," 
said  Joe. 

"  No.  Guess  we  better  go  home  an'  see  Dick, 
smoke  jes"  as  good  walkin'  as  sittin'."  returned 
Sam.  "  Den  we  have  dinner,  maybe,  an'  smoke 
some  more." 

''  Right  ye  be.  mate.  We'll  go  home,  we  will, 
an'  spin  a  yarn  or  two  by  the  galley  fire,'  agreed 


;t 


SAM  FINDS  HIS  PARTNER    249 

the  other,  in  high  good-humour.     They  turned 
and  started  to  retrace  their  steps,  Joe  in  the  lead. 
Sam  reshouldered  his  axe  and  pack  when  they 
reached  the  place  of  their  first  meeting.     In  his 
anxiety  to  learn  something  of  Dick,  he  pressed 
close  upon  the  tails  of  his  guide's  snow-shoes,  so 
close  that  the  other  had  either  to  maintain  a  brisk 
pace  or  take  the  risk  of  being  tripped.     So  the 
queer    couple  —  the    tall,  long-haired,  wild-eyed 
lunatic  and  the  short,  calm-eyed  Indian  —  pressed 
forward    toward    the    rugged    base    of    Wigwam 
Mountain.    The  wild  man  glanced  over  his  shoul- 
der every  now  and  then,  grinning  a  protest  at 
the  other's  speed.    Once  he  said,  "  Ye  seem  to  be 
in  a  rare  hurry,  mate,"  and  slackened  his  pace 
for  the  fraction  of   a  second.     "  Yes,  I  be,"  re- 
turned Sam,  stepping  on  the  tails  of  the  leader's 
racquets.     They  reached  sloping  ground.      The 
slope  grew  steeper  and  steeper  with  every  yard 
covered.    Now  Joe  kept  inclining  to  the  right,  and 
soon  they  were  on  a  beaten  trail,  unmistakable 
in  spite  of  the  four-inch  covering  of  the  last  fall 
of  snow.     By  this  time  they  were  well  up  the 
wooded   flank   of  the    mountain,    and   the   trail 
did  not  give  an  inch  to  rough  places  or  steep.    Sam 
would  gladly  have  slowed  the  pace  now,  for  though 


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250    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


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his  foot  had  stood  the  strain  wonderfully,  thanks 
to  its  many  dressings  and  wrappings,  the  very 
weight  of  those  wrappings  was  telling  on  him. 
But  Joe  Banks  had  taken  the  hint  and  did  not 
intend  to  have  his  heel  stepped  on  again.  Sam 
began  to  drop  behind ;  and  an  awful  fear  that  his 
guide  would  pass  beyond  his  sight  and  then  suffer 
another  attack  of  crazy  panic  prompted  him  to 
exert  his  wits.  The  trail  was  steep  and  twisty, 
the  old  man's  padded  foot  of  formidable  weight 
and  feeling  weightier  with  every  step.  "  Time 
for  more  smoke,"  he  called.  "  No  good  to  go 
hungry  for  one  more  smoke." 

The  wild  man  glanced  over  his  shoulder  and 
saw  the  other  standing  with  the  plug  of  tobacco 
in  his  hand.  He  halted,  expectantly.  Sam  with- 
drew the  mitten  from  his  right  hand  and  produced 
his  knife.  "No  hurry,"  he  said.  "  What  you 
in  such  a'mighty  rush  about,  anyhow?  You 
don't  like  good  tobac,  maybe?  Yovir  pipe  still 
full  maybe?" 

"  Reckon  I  kin  stand  another  pipefull,  mate," 
replied  Joe  grinning.  After  filling  and  lighting 
their  pipes  they  advanced  again  at  a  leisurely  pace. 

"How  much  fiuther?  Pretty  near  there?" 
asked  Sam. 


SAM  FINDS  HIS  PARTNER    251 

"  Aye,  pretty  nigh  home  now,"  replied  the  other 
and  blew  a  shrill  whistle  on  his  fingers.  The  call 
was  answered  before  the  echoes  of  it  had  died  away 
by  a  leaping  grey  shape  on  the  trail  ahead.  At 
sight  of  it,  Sam  brought  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder. 
Joe  saw  the  motion  and  knocked  the  weapon 
from  the  trapper's  hands  with  a  mighty  sweep 

of  his  arm.     "  That's  Bill,  ye  d swab,"   he 

cried.  "  Don't  ye  go  tryin'  any  o'  yer  backwoods 
monkey-shines  on  Bill." 

Sam  drew  his  knife.  The  panther  crouched 
in  the  trail,  Joe  gripped  Sam  by  the  shoulder  with 
fingers  as  hard  as  wood.  "  Ye'd  better  put  that 
knife  away,  mate,"  he  Wiispered,  "or  ye'll  get 
yerself  into  trouble." 

"  But  he'll  jump  for  me,"  gasped  Sam. 

"  Not  him,"  returned  Joe.  "  Wouldn't  hurt  a 
hair  o'  yer  head.  Bill  wouldn't,  if  he  knows  ye  be 
a  friend  o'  mine.    Put  up  yer  knife  quick." 

Sam  obeyed,  though  with  evident  reluctance. 
Joe  loosed  the  grip  on  his  shoulder  and  patted 
him  on  the  back.  "  Look'e  here.  Bill,  this  gent 
ain't  to  be  bit,  mind  that.  Wouldn't  try  to  harm 
ye  for  any  money,  he  wouldn't.  Take  a  good 
squint  at  'im,  Bill  —  an'  remember  what  I  say." 

The  panther  straightened  his  legs,  turned  and 


w 


:     *)■■: 


■   Hi 


252    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

walked  up  the  trail.    Sober  S  .  i  was  amazed  and 
simply  stood  and  stared. 

"  Now,  mate,  pick  up  yer  gun  an'  come  along," 
said  the  wild  man.  "  Don't  fret  about  Bill.  Treat 
him  polite  an'  he'll  treat  ye  likewise." 

"  Yes,  I  treat  him  polite,  you  bet,"  agreed  Sam, 
hastily. 

Five  minutes  later  they  reached  the  mouth  of 
the  den.  Joe  pointed  proudly  to  the  low  entrance. 
"  Here  we  be,  mate,"  he  said.  "  Not  much  to 
look  at,  ye'll  say,  but  good  enough  for  a  poor 
sailorman  betv.'een  v'yages.  I've  seen  better  an' 
I've  seen  worse.  Now  there  was  my  old  shipmate 
the  doctor,  he  was  alius  cussin',  he  was.  Said 
as  how  he  was  ust  to  better  things  nor  his  berth 
aboard  the  Sea  Robin.  Well,  he  got  ust  to  worse 
—  if  my  memory  serves  me.  Aye,  ye  may  well 
say  it.  He  come  to  his  end  and  in  a  worse  berth 
nor  the  one  he  was  alius  cussin'  at ;  but  just  how 
it  all  happened  I've  forgot.  He  wasn't  a  mate 
to  be  trusted,  wasn't  the  doctor." 

This  babbling  fell  on  deaf  ears.  Sam  pointed 
at  the  low  entrance  of  the  shapeless,  snow-drifted 
mound  against  the  side  of  the  mountain.  "  Is 
Dick  in  there?  "  he  asked.    "  Is  Dick  in  there?  " 

"  Aye,  there  be  a  lad  in  there,  in  me  own  berth. 


Mi 


SAM  FINDS  HIS  PARTNER    253 

Aye,   Dick's  what  he  calls  himself,  mate;    but 
how  he  come  there  I  coiildn't  tell  'e,"  replied  Joe. 

The  old  trapper  trembled  with  eagerness.  Was 
it  true?  Was  Dick  really  in  there,  —  alive?  He 
stepped  forward. 

"Hey!    Dick!    You  there,  Dick?  "  he  called. 

"  Hullo,"  replied  a  familiar  voice  from  within. 
"  That  you,  Sam?    Come  in.    Come  in." 

The  old  trapper  sprang  forward,  dropped  his 
pack  and  stooped  to  enter  the  den ;  but  Joe  Banks 
thrust  him  aside.  "  Me  first,"  he  said.  "  Bill 
in  there,  too  —  and  perhaps  he  wouldn't  act 
just  right,  at  first,  mate,  if  he  seen  ye  comin' 
in  too  suddent." 

So  Sam  drew  aside  and  the  wild  man  entered 
ahead  of  him,  crawling  in  on  hands  and  knees. 
Sam  followed  close,  eager  to  assure  himself  by  the 
proof  of  his  eyes  that  Dick  was  still  alive;  but, 
with  a  half-thought  of  the  panther  in  his  mind,  he 
carried  his  knife  unobtrusively  in  his  right  hand. 
Just  within  the  low  den,  the  fore-part  of  which 
was  built  of  logs  in  continuation  of  the  natural 
cave  that  formed  the  rear  part,  he  paused  and 
gazed  around,  blinking  his  eyes  in  the  darkness. 
There  was  the  wild  man  just  ahead  of  him,  now 
standing  in  a  stooped  position;  beyond  those  long 


l'4 


\i 


254    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

legs  firelight  wavered  cheerfully  but  feebly;  and 
by  that  swaying  iUumination  he  saw  the  panther 
sitting  in  front  of  the  primitive  hearth,  as  harmless 
and  innocent  as  a  kitchen  rat 'or.  Then,  from 
the  darkness  beyond  the  panther,  a  lank 'figure 
advanced  unsteadily. 

"  You  there,  Sam?  "  inquired  a  famihar  voice. 
It  was  Dick.    Yes,  beyond  a  doubt,  it  was  Dick. 
Sam  scrambled  to  his  feet,  snow-shoes  and  aU 
Dick  grasped  his  hand.     They  beamed  at  each 
other  in  the   fitful  firelight.     "  WeU,   you  dam 
queer    fellow,"   remarked   Sam.      "I   t'ink   you 
dead,  sure.     How  you  get  here  I  like  to  know." 
"Never  mind  that  now,"  said  Dick.     "I've 
been  ill  -  and  Joe  pulled  me  through.    But  how 
is  your  foot  ?    Heavens !  it  looks  as  big  as  a  house. 
How  did  you  get  around  to  cut  your  wood  and 
fetch  the  water?  " 

^^  "Never  min'  dat,"  returned  Sam,  smiling. 
"Both  still  ahve,  anyhow  — an'  dat  more'n  we 
deserve,  maybe.  You  look  a'mighty  like  one  old 
skeleton,  Dick.  Mighty  glad  to  see  you  though 
anyhow.  Kinder  t'ink  I  find  your  real  skeleton 
laym'  out  on  de  snow.  Well,  how  you  feel  anv- 
how? "  '       ^ 

"Oh.  pretty  fit -but  hungry,"  replied  Dick. 


SAM  FINDS  HIS  PARTNER     255 

"  Weak  in  the  legs  but  amazingly  strong  in  the 
stomach.  I  went  five  days  just  drinking  herb 
tea,  you  know.  Got  anything  to  eat  in  your 
pockets?  " 

"  Maybe,"  said  Sam.  "  You  let  me  get  my 
racquets  off,  an'  dis  gran'  bit  moccasin,  an'  den 
we  eat  some  grub.  You  not  cook  very  fine  dinner 
here,  I  guess.    You  eat  it  raw  maybe." 

Dick  patted  him  on  the  back.  Then,  "  If  you'll 
excvise  me,  Sam,  I'll  just  go  back  and  sit  on  my 
bed.  I'm  still  pretty  shaky.  Get  off  your  things. 
Don't  step  on  Bill's  tail,"  he  said.  He  retired 
and  lay  down  on  his  couch  of  skins.  Joe  put  more 
wood  on  the  fire.  Sam  got  his  outer  coat  off  and 
slipped  his  snow-shoes  from  his  feet.  Then  he 
freed  his  lame  foot  from  its  numerous  outer  wrap- 
pings. This  done,  he  looked  around  the  cave  with 
friendly  interest. 

Diner  was  supplied  from  Sam's  pockets  and 
Joe's  rusty  tea-kettle.  The  panther  dined  off  a 
bone  that  was  none  too  fresh.  After  that,  Sam 
and  Joe  smoked  their  pipes  and  all  talked  save 
the  panther.  He  went  out  to  look  for  another 
bone,  All  the  rational  conversation  was  between 
the  two  trappers,  for  poor  Joe  could  think  of 
nothing    bat    ancient    and    hopelessly    muddled 


I  " 


i 


n 


256    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

deep-sea  adventures.    But  he  was  in  a  very  cheer- 
ful frame  of  mind  and  looked  upon  Sam  as  an 
old  friend.    Dick  told  his  partner  of  his  one-sided 
fight  with  the  panther,  and  of  how  the  wild  man 
had    rescued   him    from   certain   death.     Sam's 
round  face  lost  a  shade  of  its  mah  ^any  tint. 
Maybe  he  try  it  agin,"  he  said.    "       .n  painters 
mighty  distrustful  critters.    He  w..  all  ready  to 
jump  on  me,  if  dat  crazy  feller  hadn't  told  him 
to  quit.     Guess  I'd  better  shoot  him  sometime 
when  his  partner  ain't  lookin'." 

"  Don't  you  do  it,"  exclaimed  Dick.  "  Bill's 
a  good  cat,  and  he  jumped  on  me  because  he 
thought  I  was  his  enemy.  Now  we're  the  best 
of  friends.  I  tell  you  I'm  really  fond  of  him,  Sam 
and  I  wish  I  owned  him.  I  believe  he  has  more 
sense  than  poor  Joe  Banks  ever  had ;  but  Joe's 
a  good  fellow  too,  though  mad  as  a  hatter  " 

"  Dat  right,"  returned  Sam.  "  Queer  t'ing  you 
and  me  ever  be  scar'd  of  him.  But  he  a  mighty 
big  fief,  anyway,  and  I  guess  we  better  make  him 
promise  to  leave  our  traps  alone." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  easier  said  than  done,"  replied 
Dick,  smiling.  "  I  don't  believe  he  knew  that  he 
was  robbing  our  traps.  He  thought  the  traps 
grew  where  he  found  them,  no  doubt,  and  simply 


ICf.i 


SAM  FINDS  HIS  PAKTNER    257 


took  what  natvire  so  kindly  offered  him.  And 
when  he  chased  you  that  day,  Sam,  I  believe  he 
was  really  more  frightened  than  you  were." 

"  Maybe  so,"  said  the  old  Indian,  "  and  maybe 
not  so.  He  heap  big  fool,  all  right,  but  he  know 
enough  to  pick  out  one  black  fox  skin  from  whole 
lot  more  skins.  He  know  good  t'ing  when  he 
see  it.  Maybe  you  find  dat  fox  skin  afore  dis, 
Dick?  " 

Dick  shook  his  head.  "  No,  I  haven't  seen 
it  yet,"  he  said.  "  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I 
haven't  thought  for  days.  It  is  worth  a  lot  of 
money,  I  know ;  but  it  seemed  a  very  small  thing 
to  worry  about  when  I  did  not  know  if  I'd  ever 
get  out  of  this  den  alive.  But  now  that  we  are 
both  safe  I  suppose  we'd  better  get  to  work  at 
^■c  again." 

>  -.  . ooked  grim.  He  was  about  to  remind  Dick 
th^'t  not  a  trap  had  been  attended  to  within  the 
last  ten  days  or  more  when  the  wild  man,  who 
had  been  mumbling  to  himself  about  his  friend, 
the  doctor,  brought  his  mind  suddenly  back  to  his 
surroundings  and  clutched  the  old  trapper  by  the 
arm. 

"  Look'e  here,  mate,  ye  never  told  me  when  ye 
come   ashore,"  he  cried.     "  Nor  what  ship  ye 


.  ^°!»>i>sftf i»»9^a^ia9Ba^^ 


4il 

,•1, 


Mt 


258    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

belong  to,  nor  if  Cap'n  Mann  be  still  a-huntin*  for 
me  and  the  doctor  in  Pemambuco.  Ye've  bin 
yarnin'  away  to  Dick  there,  an'  never  half  a  word 
for  me."  He  shook  Sam  none  too  gently,  and 
his  eyes  looked  even  more  than  usually  wild. 

"  Tell  him,"  said  Dick.  "  Make  up  some  sort 
of  yarn.  Tell  him  you  know  the  captain.  Hurry 
up.    He  gets  like  this  sometimes." 

"Dat's  a'right,"  said  the  trapper.  "I  come 
ashore  a  mighty  long  time  ago  —  from  a  ship  dey 
caU  de  Mary  Jane.  Yes,  dat  righ..  An'  Cap'n 
Mann,  he  still  huntin'  for  you.  Yes,  you  bet.  He 
say  he  wanter  give  you  some  money." 

"  No,  not  money,"  said  Joe,  quite  calmly  and 

pleasantly.      "Ye    off  the   course   there,    mat-. 

Wasn't  it  sonethin'  about  pearls,  now.?    Wasn't 

he  wantin'  to  see  me  and  the  doctor  about  four 

pearls?  " 

"  Yes,  dat  right,"  returned  Sam.  "An'  I  see 
the  doctor,  too.  He  say  he  comin'  up  dis  way  to 
visit  you,  maybe."  He  was  astonished  by  the 
effect  of  his  flight  of  imagination  upon  the  wild 
man  —  astonished  and  dismayed.  Joe  sprang  to 
his  feet. 

"What's    that    ye    say,    mate?"    he    cried. 
"  ^Vhat's  that  ye  say?    Did  ye  see  the  doctor? 


SAM  FINDS  HIS  PARTNER    259 


Did  ye  see  him?  an'  did  he  name  me  —  Joe 
Banks?  " 

Sam  saw  that  he  liad  tcAiched  a  sore  spot.  He 
became  cautious. 

"  Maybe  'twas  'nother  doctor,"  he  said. 


•,:  i 


i  I 


!■ 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SAM    AND    THE    WILD    MAN    HUNT   TOGETHER       SAM 
INQUIRES    ABOUT    STOLEN    BLACK    FOX     SKIN 
AND   RECEIVES    NO   SATISFACTION 

The  wild  man  stood  on  the  clay  floor  of  the 
den,  towering  above  the  astonished  trapper  his 
eyes  staring,  his  bewhiskered  face  a  picture  of 
dismay.  ••  mat  did  he  look  like?  "  he  whispered 
m  a  shaky  voice.  "  What  did  the  doctor  look  like  ? 
Runt  o'  a  man  was  he,  with  black  eyes  an'  lan- 
tern jaws?    Tell  me,  mate." 

Sam  reflected  that  this  doctor  mus^.  be  a  person 
of  some  importance  in  the  wild  man's  past — 
and  evidently  a  person  whom  the  wild  man  was 
not  at  all  anxious  to  see  again  -  and  a  smaU  man 
It  seemed,  with  black  eyes  and  lean  jaws.    WeU,' 
he  must  get  away  from  dangerous  ground  with  all 
dispatch.     He  had  a  pretty  clear  head  on  his 
square  shoulders,  hod  cid  Sober  Sam. 
^^  "  I  guess  you  make  one  big  mistake,"  he  said. 
"  Doctor  I  see,  he  bigger  no  you,  a'most,  an'  his 
eyes  de  colour  of  blueberries,  an'  his  face  fat  as  a 

260 


}  ! 


1 

SAM  AND  THE  WILD  MAN 

261                      1 
1 

V\'ar'c  Viam  in  K*»rrv-timp       Hp  snv  tn  mi».  *  Hoi 

Dv  mv                            n 

frien'  Mister  Joe,  what  I  give  five  pills  to,  ten 
year  ago,  for  de  belly-ache? '  " 

Dick  laughed  long  and  loud.  Sa»-i  smiled 
slightly  —  very  slightly.  Joe  Bank?  coked  at 
once  puzzled  and  relieved.  "  Well,  ate,  ye've 
got  me  there,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  recollect  no 
such  doctor  as  that;  but  my  memory  ain't  just 
as  good  as  it  ust  to '.)  .  I  be  glad  it  wasn't  t'other 
chap  ye  met,  anyway  —  for  he's  dead!  " 

"  Hah!  "  exclaimed  Sam. 

"Aye,  dead  as  nails,"  replied  the  wild  man. 
"  Dead  as  Jonah  an'  all  the  other  kings  o'  Egypt. 
Dead  as  buttons.    Aye,  ye  may  lay  to  that,  mate." 

"  Guess  so,"  said  Sam,  nodding  his  head. 
"  But  you  tell  me,  Joe,  what  vou  chase  n  for 
one  day,  all  through  the  woods  an'  down  the  <e  ? 
Dat  a'mighty  queer  way  for  you  to  treat  u.  decent 
feller  like  Sober  Sam." 

"Ye  must  be  cracked,  r-«e,"  retorted  Joe, 
warmly.  "  What  would  a  peaceful  sailorman  like 
me  be  chasin'  ye  for?  "  He  paused  and  passed  one 
of  his  big  hands  across  his  forehead.  "  I  don't 
know — I  don't  remember,"  he  continued.  "I 
chase  so  many  things,  mate  —  an'  sometimes 
they  chase  me." 


,- 


I 


^^'l 


■■.  .i*ij 


262    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

Dick  shook  his  head  at  Sam.  "  And  don't  you 
try  to  remember.  Joe,"  he  said.  "  Sam  gets  queer 
notions  into  his  head,  sometimes.  Of  course  you 
never  chased  him.  Fill  your  pipe  again,  and  tell 
us  how  you  make  that  fine  herb-tea  that  saved 
my  life." 

The  ex-boatswain  was  calm  again.     He  filled 
his  pipe ;  but  he  did  not  tell  them  the  secret  of  the 
herb-tea.     His  crazy  brain  was  away  again  — 
far  back  and  far  away  upon  the  rocking  sea.    He 
talked  of  ships,  of  captains,  of  storms  and  calms 
He  named  old  ship-mates  and  sang  snatches  of 
forecastle  ditties.     He  spoke  of  hot  ports  with 
names  that  smacked  of  romance;  of  green  road- 
steads and  palm-fringed  shores;    of  gales,  half- 
gales  and  the  blue  sea  matted  with  squares  of 
floating  weed.     But  he  jumbled  everything,  flew 
from  one  subject  to  another  and  never  brought 
a  story  to  an  end.     He  came  to  a  stop  at  last 
looked  vaguely  at  his  companions,   laid   a  few 
sticks  of  wood  on  the  fire  and  then  crawled  out 
of  the  den. 

The  trappers  were  left  by  themselves      Dick 
laughed  quietly.     "  Joe's  a  queer  chap,"  he  said 
"  Mad  -  absolutely    mad  -  but    sharp    enough 
about  some  things.    He  has  seen  some  queer  things 


■, .  .rmmm-^^w^m^^smw^: 


SAM  AND  THE  WILD  MAN    263 


in  his  day  —  and  done  some  queer  things  too, 
no  doubt.  And  we  are  not  ordinary  chaps,  Sam. 
Some  people  I  kno^  would  not  think  there  was 
much  of  a  choice  to  make  between  Joe  and  you 
and  me.  Here  we  are  in  a  den,  anyway,  with  a 
mad  man  and  a  panther  for  our  hosts.  Now  we 
are  all  four  very  good  friends  —  and  yet  I  owe  what 
came  very  near  to  being  my  death  to  the  panther 
as  surely  as  I  owe  my  life  to  the  mad  man.  Some- 
times, when  I  think  of  England,  I  wonder  if  I  am 
dreaming  it  all." 

"  Mighty  queer  t'ings  happen  in  dis  country," 
agreed  Sam.  "  But  what  matter,  Dick,  so  long 
we  don't  get  kilt  an'  get  out  in  spring-time  with 
good  take  of  skins?  Dat  make  it  a'right  —  plenty 
good  skins.    Wish  we  find  dat  black  fox  skin." 

Dick  nodded.  "  I  think  Joe  has  hidden  it  away 
and  forgotten  about  it.  I'll  ask  him  sometime. 
We'll  have  to  work  hard  between  now  and  spring, 
Sam,  to  make  up  for  what  we  have  lost  by  your 
accident  and  my  illness  —  and  Joe's  robberies." 

"  When  you  ready  to  come  home  ?  "  asked  Sam. 

*'  My  legs  still  feel  pretty  wobbly  —  and  so 
does  my  head,"  answered  Dick;  "but  I  think 
rU  be  able  to  walk  the  distance  in  a  day  or  two. 
Will  you  wait  here  until  I  am  able  to  move,  Sam?  " 


;>: 


M 


264    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

"Maybe.  Stay  to-night,  anyhow,  an'  go 
huntin'  with  Joe  in  de  mornin'.  Want  to  tell  Joe 
not  to  fool  with  our  traps,  an'  talk  to  him  about 
dat  fox  skin.  Guess  he  remember,  maybe,  if  I 
talk  long  time." 

"  Don't  frighten  him,  or  anger  him,"  cautioned 
Dick. 

"  Guess  not.    Guess  I  know  how  to  handle  'im 
now." 

The  afternoon  passed  uneventfully  and  Joe 
and  the  panther  returned  before  dark.  The  supper 
was  a  scanty  one.  consisting  of  nothing  more  than 
a  small  oroiled  hare  and  a  few  handsfull  of  dncd 
berries.  Dick's  appetite,  good  at  all  times,  was 
especially  keen  just  now.  Sam  felt  peckish,  too 
-  almost  as  peckish  after  finishing  his  share  of 
the  hare  and  berries  as  before. 

"  Give  us  some  more.  Joe."  begged  Dick.     "  I 
call  this  a  mean  supper." 

'•Ye'U   bust,    yet."   returned    the    wild   man 
Never  saw  such  a  eater  in  all  my  born  days  " 

'I'll  never  bust  while  I  live  with  you."  retorted 
Dick. 

"Dat   right."   said   Sam.      "Maybe   you  got 
some  more  grub,  Joe?  " 

"No  more   rabbit."   returned  Joe,    "an'   not 


SAM  AND  THE  WILD  MAN    265 


many  more  of  them  berries.    But  I  kin  give  ye  a 
fish  if  you  want  it." 

His  offer  was  warmly  accepted  by  the  trappers. 
He  left  the  cave  and  soon  returned  with  a  large 
lake  trout  in  his  hand.  It  was  frozen  as  stiff  as 
a  board.  Sam  thawed  it  and  then  broiled  it  on  a 
fiat  stone  at  the  edge  ot  the  fire.  Joe  had  caught 
this  fish,  along  with  many  more,  in  the  lake  called 
Smoky  Pot,  just  after  the  first  ice  had  formed, 
so  it  had  lain  in  a  frozen  state  for  months  and 
lacked  much  of  its  origmal  flavour.  But  the 
trappers  enjoyed  it. 

"  If  we  had  some  of  Joe's  dried  berries  down  at 
the  shack  we  could  make  a  pudding,"  said  Dick, 
disposing  of  the  last  morsel  of  trout  on  the  flat 
stone. 

"  No  sugar.  No  molass'.  How  we  make 
puddin',  Dick?  "  asked  Sam. 

"  Well,  we  have  some  flour  left,"  returned  Dick. 
"  It  would  be  pretty  good,  even  without  sugar. 
I'll  try,  when  I  get  back.  Now  I'll  turn  in  and 
get  CO  sleep  while  I  feel  comfortable.  If  I 
stay  awake  I'll  be  hungry  in  another  half- 
hour." 

Sam  and  Joe  sat  and  smoked  by  the  fire,  and 
the  panther  slumbered  between  them.    After  the 


fl  \' 


266    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

second  filling  and  emptying  of  the  pipes  Sam 
spread  his  -leeping-bag  beside  Dick's  couch  and 
crawled  into  it.  Joe  placed  wood  on  the  fire, 
then  crawled  noiselessly  to  the  low  door-way, 
racquets  in  hand,  and  slipped  out.  The  panther 
followed  him.  The  air  was  still  but  bitterly  cold. 
A  small  moon  hung  above  the  pointed  tops  of  the 
forest.  This  was  the  time  for  hunting  —  for  such 
hunting  as  was  done  by  Joe  Banks  and  his  partner. 
They  moved  noiselessly  along  the  white  lanes, 
under  the  dense  black  shadows. 

Next  morning  after  a  breakfast  of  fish  (for  the 
night's  hunting  had  been  unsuccessful),  Sam  and 
Joe  set  out,  leaving  Dick  and  the  panther  to  keep 
house.  Joe  seemed  to  be  as  ready  for  the  expedi- 
tion as  Sam,  though  he  had  been  awake  all  night, 
tramping  in  the  snow.  Sam  carried  his  riile  and 
Joe  was  armed  only  with  his  knife. 

"Mate,"  said  Joe,  "we  want  something  big 
for  dinner,  or  that  lad  Dick'U  have  a  fit.  What 
do  ye  say  to  one  o'  them  big  deer?  " 
"  Moose?  Caribou?  "  asked  Sam. 
"  Ye've  got  me,  mate.  A  seafarin  man  I  am, 
an'  alius  was,  and  havin'  just  been  ashore  a  matter 
of  a  day  or  so  T  ain't  got  the  hang  o'  the  beasts' 
names  yet.    But  I'll  show  ye  where  some  o'  them 


SAM  AND  THE  WILD  MAN    267 

big  black  fellers  are  in  port.  I'll  do  the  showin' 
and  ye  kin  do  the  shootin'." 

"  Dat  first  rate,"  said  Sam.  "  You  show  me 
an'  I  shoot." 

Joe  led  the  way.  They  followed  around  the 
mountain  for  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  and  then 
struck  straight  down  through  the  climbing  forest 
of  spruce,  heading  for  the  circular  lake  that  is 
called  Smoky  Pot  by  the  few  people  whc  know 
of  its  existence.  Sam  was  not  as  familiar  with 
the  country  on  this  side  of  the  mountain  as  he 
was  with  the  lake,  barren  and  forests  on  the  other 
side.  Not  once  that  winter  had  he  been  around 
the  mountain.  He  followed  Joe  down  among  the 
shaggy  trees  in  silence,  keeping  a  sharp  look-out 
for  game  on  every  hand.  At  the  foot  of  the  steep 
slope  they  entered  a  level  of  close  growing  cedars. 
They  had  not  gone  far  in  the  gloom  of  this  dismal 
forest  before  Joe  Banks  halted  and  turned.  Sam 
halted  too,  stiuck  by  a  great  alteration  m  the 
other's  eyes  and  face.  The  wild  man  was  not 
grinning  now  and  his  eyes  had  lost  their  crazy 
gleam. 

"  Look'e  here."  he  said.  "  What  —  what  are 
we  doir^  ?  and  who  be  ye  ?  An  Injun  ?  A  trapper  ? 
Be  ye  takin'  me  somewheres?  " 


268 


f  ■ 


E.  * 


,:;i| 


COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


Sam  was  astonished;  but  he  tried  not  to  show 
it.  He  saw,  in  a  moment,  that  something  of  the 
wild  man's  old  sanity  had  come  back  to  him. 
"Yes,  I'm  a  trapper,"  he  said.  "You  an'  me 
very  good  friends.  You  take  me  down  here  some- 
wheres  to  shoot  moose  you  know  abaat— big 
animal  a'mighty  hiyh  in  de  shoulders." 

The  other  nodded.  "  Yes,  I  remember  seein* 
them  t'other  side  that  lake,  in  a  place  all  trampled 
flat.  But  some  things  I  see  an'  do  I  forget  all 
about.     I  don't  remember  ye,  mate." 

"  You  remember  Dick,  maybe?  " 

"  Aye,  Dick  is  sick  with  the  fever.  He's  layin* 
in  my  camp,  on  the  mountain  aft  there.  Be  ye 
any  kin  to  Dick?  " 

"  Dick  my  partner.  But  now  you  take  me  to 
moose  yard  an'  I  shoot  a  moose  maybe.  Sober 
Sam  good  frien'  to  you,  like  you  was  to  Dick. 
He  give  you  half  de  moose  —  if  we  shoot  him." 

"  Who  is  Sober  Sam?  "  asked  the  wild  man, 
mournfully. 

Sam  slapped  his  own  chest  with  a  mittened 
hand.     "  Me,"  he  said. 

"  I've  been  in  this  forsaken  country  a  long 
time,"  said  the  other.  "  I  don't  know  how  long  — 
don't  know  what  for.     It  is  bad  — bad!     But 


SAM  AND  THE  WILD  MAN     269 


sometimes  I  forget.  Then  I  don't  feel  so  bad.  I 
—  I  was  a  sailor —  long  ago."  He  pavtsed.  "  If 
ye  want  to  shoot  one  o'  them  beasts  "i  will  take 
you  to  the  place.  T'other  side  the  lake,  it  is  — 
place  all  trampled  fiat,"  he  added. 

"  A'right,"  returned  Sam.  Then  it  came  to  his 
mind  quick  as  a  flash,  that  now  was  the  time  to 
inquire  about  the  stone  black  fox  skin  —  now. 
when  the  crazy  man  seemed  half  sane.  "  Hoi* 
on!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  see  little  black  skin, 
maybe?  Skin  of  black  fox?  You  see  one,  maybe, 
in  shack  on  niy  pond,  t'other  side  dat  mountain?  " 

Joe  shook  his  head.  "No  —  no,  I  was  never 
in  yer  shack.  I  seen  it,  once  —  but  I  was  never 
in  it.  I  never  seen  a  black  fox  skin  —  not  to 
remember.  Fox?  Black  fox?  Nc,  mate,  — 
I  can't  remember  it."  He  turned,  at  that,  and 
started  forward. 

"  Hoi'  on,"  begged  Sam.  "  You  try  to  remem- 
ber.   Black  fox.     You  try." 

Joe  turned  his  head  over  his  shoulder.  **  Go 
to  hell!  "  he  snapped.  Then  he  continued  on  his 
way  through  the  cedars;  and  the  old  trapper 
followed  him,  silent  and  crestfallen.  They  cleared 
the  heavy  growth  and  passed  out  of  the  gloom 
into  the  glare  of  sunlight  on  the  white  level  ex- 


il. 


ty-t  I 


270    COMRADES  OP  THE  TRAILS 

panse  of  the  lake.  They  were  half  way  across 
the  lake  before  another  word  was  spoken.  Then 
the  wild  man  halted  and  turned.  He  was  grinning. 
There  were  queer,  irresponsible  gleams  and 
twinkhngs  in  his  grey  eyes.  The  sad,  puzzled, 
short  tempered  boatswain  was  gone  and  he  was 
nothing  but  the  crazy,  good-natured  wild  man 
again.  "Got  any  baccy,  mate?"  he  inquired, 
producing  his  pipe  from  somewhere  among  hii 
hairy  garments. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  trapper,  relieved  at  these  sign* 
of  his  companion's  return  to  harmless  insanity. 
"  Yes,  I  got  some,  a'right.     But  we  go  on.    We 

don't  smoke  now,  we  go  over  to  moose  yard  an' 

shoot  one  moose,  like  you  say." 
"Moose.?"  inquired  Joe. 
"  Yes.  moose.    Big  animal  —  big  horns,  maybe 

—  but    not   now  — fine   to   eat,    anyhow.      You 

show  me  one  moose  an'  I  shoot  'im.    Den  you  an' 

me  cut  him  up." 
"  Right  0!  mate.     Then  we'll  have  a  smoke. 

Keep  in  my  track  an'  I'll  soon  show  ye  the  moose. 

Aye,  that's  sense,  that  is!     Then  we'll  have  a 

smoke." 

They  plodded  on.  across  the  crisp,  glistening 
snow,  their  eyes  almost  blinded  by  the  glare.    The 


M^m 


SAM  AND  THE  WILD  MAN     271 


sun  was  warmer  now  —  possessed  of  warmth  as 
well  as  light.  It  seemed  larger,  too,  and  instead 
of  being  colourless,  like  ice  or  glass,  it  had  a  yellow 
glow  in  the  centre  and  around  the  rim  of  it  that 
did  one  good  to  see.  The  long,  still,  frost-bound, 
frost-shrouded  winter  was  drawing  to  an  end 
eve-  up  in  this  far  northern  wilderness  —  slowly, 
it  is  true,  but  surely,  surely.  As  yet,  there  was 
no  shrinkage  of  the  snow,  no  loosening  of  icy 
fetters;  but  the  days  lengthened  and  the  white 
eye  of  the  sun  showed  a  pupil  of  fire. 

Sam  and  the  wild  man  crossed  the  white  level 
of  Smoky  Pot  and  slipped  noiselessly  into  the  big 
'  timber.  Soon  they  came  to  the  out-flung  trails 
of  the  moose-yard.  Here  Sam  thought  it  well  to 
halt  and  wait,  though  Joe  was  for  breaking  into  the 
very  centre  of  the  yard.  They  crouched  side  by 
side,  no  living  thing  in  sight.  "  You  ever  kill 
any  moose  here?"  whispered  Sam.  Joe  shook 
his  head.  "  Ever  kill  one  anywhere?  "  continued 
Sam.  The  other  nodded.  "  Aye,  mate,  that  I 
did,"  he  answered.  "  Many  a  time  I've  knifed 
'em,  in  the  deep  snow.  But  it's  hard  work,  ye 
may  lay  to  that." 

At  that  moment  a  bulky,  high-shouldered, 
black-headed  form  appeared  on  one  of  the  deep 


I : 


272    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

trenches.    It  was  p  bull,  Sam  saw,  three  years  old 

or  thereabouts.     It  had  dropped  its  antlers 

as  the  moose  and  caribou  do  every  year,  only  to 
grow  new  sets. 

"  Dat  feller  good  'nough  for  us,"  breathed  Sam, 
raising  his  rifle. 


u.  ! 


M 


CHAPTER    XXII 


THE  MOOSE,      dick's  RIFLE  AND  SOME  TRAPS  COME 
TO   LIGHT.      THE   CROWNING    DISCOVERY 

Joe  Banks  drew  his  long  knife  and  crouched 

low  like  a  panther  ready  to  spring  upon  its  prey. 

Sam,  steady  as  a  rock,  brought  his  sights  in  line 

against  the  black  neck  of  the  bull  moose.     The 

big  beast  was  standing  perfectly  still,  head  up, 

sniffing  and  questioning  the  motionless  air  with 

long,  trembling  nostrils.    The  rifle  snapped,  bitter 

and  sharp.    The  moose  swayed  in  the  deep  trail, 

lowered  its  head,   staggered  forward  a  pace  or 

two  and  then  sank  on  its  knees.    Blood  spurted 

out  upon  the  snow,  melting  deep  as  it  touched. 

Joe  sprang  from  cover  with  a  shrill  cry,  knife  in 

hand,  eager  to  dispatch  the  victim  of  his  comrade's 

rifle.     The  bull  came  up  on  all  four  legs  again, 

with  a  surge  and  a  plunge,  flung  himself  out  of  the 

trail  into  the  unpacked  snow,  and  dashed  forward 

upon  the  hairy  man  with  the  long  knife.     Joe 

sprang  aside.    The  great  beast  plunged  after  him, 

its  little  eyes  snapping  with  red  rage.    Joe  fouled 

273 


il 


til  f 

pill 
id'   f 


ifin 


274    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

one  of  his  round  racquets  in  some  drifted  brush 
and  fell  sprawling,  arms  and  head  buried  deep. 
Sam  shifted  his  position  a  little  and  again  brought 
his  rifle  to  his  shoulder.  At  the  second  report  the 
moose  fell  again;  but  this  time  he  lay  stiU.  his  big 
head  within  an  inch  of  the  strugghng  wild  man. 
Then  Sam  laughed.  "  He  pretty  near  catch  you," 
he  said.  "  You  too  dam  reckless,  Joe.  You  like 
Dick." 

They  set  to  work  to  skin  and  cut  up  the  moose 
without  loss  of  time.    As  it  was  quite  out  of  the 
question  for  them  to  carry  the  big  hide  and  all 
the  flesh  away  in  one  trip,  they  fastened  half  the 
carcass  in  the  branches  of  a  spruce-tree,  well  out 
from  the  trunk  and  ten  feet  from  the  snow.    It 
was  close  upon  noon  when  this  work  was  done ;  so 
they  moved  away  from  the  outskirts  of  the  moose- 
yard,  gathered  dry  wood  and  built  a  fire,  and  set 
a  slice  of  the  fresh  meat  to  broil  and  a  kettle-full 
of  snow  to  melt.    Then  they  filled  their  pipes  and 
lit  them  with  blazing  twigs  from  the  fire.    Joe 
grinned  and  smoked  and  Sam  did  the  talking. 
He  talked  with  a  purpose,  and  by  easy  and  natural 
turns  brought   up  the  subject   of  black   foxes. 
There  might  be  a  chance,  he  thought,  that  the 
crazy  Joe  Banks  would  know  something  of  what 


TH£   MOOSE 


275 


the  sane  and  morose  Joe  knew  nothing.  At  last 
he  asked  point  blank,  if  Joe  had  the  skin  of  a 
black  fox  in  his  possession. 

"I  did  have  three  or  four  once,"  replied  Joe. 
"  Aye,  ye  may  to  that,  mate  —  three  or  four. 
Fine  skins  they  was  too."  Sam  stared.  "  Tree 
—  four  black  fox  skins?  "  he  asked,  incredulously. 

The  other  nodded.  "  But  I  forget  where  I 
put  'em  — what  I  do  with  em,"  he  said.  "My 
memory  ain't  as  good  as  it  ust  to  be,  mate." 

"  Where'd  you  get  'em?  "  asked  Sam,  eagerly. 

The  ex-boatswain  looked  puzzled  and  dis- 
tressed. "  Honest,  mate,  I  can't  tell  ye,"  he  said. 
"  I  can't  say  how  or  where  I  got  them  or  what  I 
done  with  'em.  My  head's  gone  that  queer  of  late, 
I  kin  scarce  remember  anything.  Black  fox? 
Aye,  there's  something  in  that .  I  remember  so  ,  e- 
thing  about  it,  mate  —  but  I  can't  say  exactly 
what  it  be  I  remember." 

"  Dat  too  bad,"  returned  Sam.  "  I  give  you 
two  plugs  of  tobac  if  you  i^member  'bout  dat 
fox  skin.    Yes,  you  bet.    T'ree  plugs,  maybe." 

Joe  sighed.  "  I'd  tell  ye  ii  I  knew,  mate,"  he 
said,  earnestly.  "  But  perhaps  there  ain't  nothin' 
in  it  at  all  —  perhaps  I  never  seen  one  o'  them 
skins  in  all  my  life.    My  head's  queer,  mate,  an' 


ii 

i'i 

i> 


276     COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


ilij  • 


1 


;l 


no  mistake.  It  gets  queer  notions  into  it  —  an' 
I  don't  know  where  they  come  from.  But  about 
the  black  fox  skins !    Now,  that  do  beat  all !    Was  it 

aboard  the  Sea  Robin  or  in  Pemambuco? or 

in  Liverpool?  —  I  seen  three  or  four  fine  black 
skins.    No,  I  reckon  I  was  dreamin',  mate." 

"  You  dream  a  little  harder  an'  I  give  you  four 
plug  of  tobac,"  said  Sam,  glancing  keenly  at  his 
companion.     He  had  an  idea  —  an  unfair  idea  — 
that  the  wild  man's  memory  was  not  quite  as 
bad  as  he  pretended.     But  it  was  of  no  use.    The 
harder  Joe  put  his  mind  to  the  subject,  the  dimmer 
and  more  unsatisfactory  became  his  memory.    At 
last  he  even  forgot  what  it  was  he  was  trying  to 
remember   about.      The    subject   of   his   mental 
exertions  slipped  his  mind.     Then  he  gave  it  up 
with  a  frisky  skip  on  his  round  snow-shoes  and 
a  shi  ill  crow  of  laughter.    So  Sam  gave  it  up  too  — 
for  the  time.     They  reached    the   den  without 
accident  and  fried  a  slice  of  moose-meat  for  the 
hungry  Die...     Bill,  the  panther,  ate  his  portion 
raw.    While  Sam  watched  Dick  eat,  the  wild  man 
clawed  about  among  the  brush  and  poles  that 
roofed  the  man-made  part  of  the  den.     At  last 
he  dragged  Dick's  rifle,  belt  and  belt-axe  into  view. 
"Hah!     Those  are  mine ! "    exclaimed    Dick 


*•*: 


v*i^^ 


THE   MOOSE 


277 


letting  a  fragment  of  burnt  steak  drop  from  his 
fingers. 

Joe  stepped  over  and  handed  them  to  him. 
"  Ye 're  welcome  to  'em,  lad,"  he  said,  "but  how 
they  ever  come  to  be  in  my  roof  is  more  nor  I  kin 
say.  That  there  little  hatchet  kind  o'  catches 
my  eye;  but  ye're  welcome,  ye're  welcome." 

"  You  put  them  there  yourself,"  replied  Dick. 
"  Surely  you  remember  that." 

"  No,  lad,  I  don't  remember.  But  what  does  it 
matter?  " 

"You  can  have  the  belt-axe  —  the  little 
hatchet,"  said  Dick. 

Joe  was  delighted.  He  felt  the  edge  of  the 
blade  with  his  thumb  and  grinned  at  its  sharpness. 
Sober  Sam  watched  him  closely  all  the  while. 
Suddenly  he  said,  "  You  hunt  up  there  in  de  roof 
agin,  Joe.  Maybe  you  find  something  more  don't 
belong  to  you." 

The  wild  man  returned  to  the  hiding-place  in 
the  roof  without  hesitation  or  protest,  and  fumbled 
about.  He  produced  a  steel  fox-trap,  chain  and 
all  —  another  —  even  a  third.  "  Blast  my  eyes !  " 
he  exclaimed.  "  What  sort  o*  gear  d'ye  call 
this?  " 

"  Traps,"  said  Sam,  his  eyes  twinkling.    "  Our 


'"'  i 

m\ 

'  if!,: 

h 


278    COxMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

traps.    T'ank  you  very  muchly.    What  else  you 
got  up  there  ?    Try  agin. ' ' 

Dick  began  to  laugh,  and  even  BiU  the  panther 
looked  amused.  Joe  grinned  broadly  and  thrust 
both  arms  into  the  ceiling  again.  After  a  great 
deal  of  fumbling  about  and  grunting  he  produced 
one  more  trap.  That  was  aU.  He  seemed 
highly  pleased  with  himself.  "Ye  can  have 
'em,"  ho  said,  kicking  tl.c  heap  of  traps  on 
the  floor.  "They  ain't  no  good  to  me  an'  Bill 
mates."  ' 

Dick  thanked  him;   but  Sam  was  too  deep  in 
thought  for  words  -  just  then.     He  looked  up 
after   a   minute    or   two.    however,    and   asked, 
'  You  got  some  other  place  you  put  t'ings  away.?  " 
But  Joe  did  not  give  a  satisfactory  answer     He 
had  already  forgotten  the  amusing  incident  of 
the  traps  and,  grinxLng  vaguely  at  the  old  trapper 
he  began  to  talk  of  the  sea  and  the  tropics.    This 
he  kept  up  until  Sam  nudged  him  in  the  ribs. 
"  We  better  go  an'  get  'nother  load  of  moose- 
meat,"  he  said.    Joe  looked  vacant,  but  followed 
him  from  the  den.    The  panther  went  with  them 
and  Dick  was  left  alone,  to  dean  his  riile  with  a  rag 
from  one  of  his  torn  shirts  (Bill's  claws  had  torn  the 
shuts),  and  to  congratulate  himself  on  the  return 


f"*! 


'^^r^'^i^is^^umm^^QM^^^^i'^^m^mmmm^ 


•4f»^:x^'^:' 


THE   MOOSE 

ps.    In  spite  of 


279 


of  weapon  and  trap 
black  fox  skin  they  might  have  a  good  "  take  " 
of  furs  to  show  for  their  winter's  work  and  hard- 
ships, after  all.     There  was  no  doubt  that  the 
wUd  man  had  taken  the  precious  fox  skin  from 
the  shack,  only  to  hide  it  away  and  then  forget 
its  whereabouts;    but  that  was  a  small  matter 
to  set  against  his  days  of  tender,  though  erratic 
nursiiig.     True,  it  was  Joe's  fault  that  he  had 
been  brought  to  a  state  that  had  required  nursing 
(but  for  Joe,  the  panther  would  not  have  been 
in  the  country  at  all)  and  the  two  had  cost  him 
many  hours  of  worry  and  many  dollars*  worth  of 
fur;  but  now  he  felt  only  the  most  kindly  emotions 
toward  the   wild   man   and  the   panther.     His 
strength  was  returning  to  him  with  every  hour, 
and  again  he  looked  out  on  life  with  the  intc-  st 
and  hopefulness  of  youth.     He  and  Sam  would 
soon  be  at  work  again;   in  a  month  or  two  the 
rivers  would  open  and  they  would  take  their  pelts 
down  to  the  settlements  and  exchange  them  for 
the  currency  of  the  country.    Yes,  even  counting 
on  the  loss  of  the  black  fox  skin  it  would  turn  out 
a  profitable  venture.    And  then  the  fun  he  had 
shared  in,  and  the  grim  risks  he  had  taken,  and 
the  things  he  had  learned.    How  the  eyes  of  his 


*■' 


I 


'i 


M'M 


280    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

friends  at  home  would  protrude  if  they  could  hear 
of  this  winter  on  Two- Fox  Pond. 

The  others  returned  shortly  after  sunset,  carry- 
ing the  remainder  of  the  moose.     Then  dinner 
was  cooked,  pipes  smoked,  and  all  four  drifted 
off  into  the  region  of  dreams.    Even  t^°  panther 
did  not  hunt  that  night.     What  was  the  use  of 
trailing  through  the  woods  all  night  when  a  little 
brown  man  with  a  rifle  could  fill  the  den  with 
meat    between    breakfast    and    dinner?      After 
breakfast,  Sam  said  that  he  must  get  back  to 
the  shack  on  Two-Fox  Pond  with  some  of  the 
moose-meat  and  the  recovered  traps.     The  wild 
man  volunteered  to  go  with  him;    and  that  was 
just  what  the  old  trapper  was  feeling  for.     He 
wanted  to  treat  Joe  well,  to  make  a  good  impres- 
sion on  him  by  means  of  tobacco  and  tea,  and 
continually  jog  his  flighty  memory  with  the  sub- 
ject of  the  black  fox  skin.     That  skin  was  worth 
taking  a  good  deal  of  trouble  about.    So  Sam  and 
Joe  filled  their  pipes  and  set  out  like  old  friends, 
leaving   Dick   and  the   panther  to  keep  house. 
The  day  was  fine,  and  the  snow  well  packed  by 
sun  and  wind.     They  reached  the  shack  within 
two  hours  and  a  half  of  leaving  the  den  on  the 
mountain;    for,   though  Sam's  foot  was  feeling 


■  ■   ■ 


mm 


.'^.n'-iW 


um 


THE   MOOSE 


281 


in  first  rate  condition,  thanks  to  the  number  of 
socks  he  wore  and  the  big  moccasin,  he  did  not 
run  any  risks  with  it  among  the  tangled  thickets 
of  the  swamp.  When  Sam  unfastened  the  door  of 
the  shack,  Joe  began  to  look  shy  and  edged  away. 
Sam  noticed  this  out  of  the  comer  of  his  left  eye. 
"  Come  in,"  he  said,  and  entered  without  looking 
around  —  and  yet  he  was  terribly  afraid  that  the 
crazy  fellow  would  bolt  with  the  moose-meat  on 
his  back.  He  went  straight  to  his  bunk,  got  a 
stick  of  tobacco  from  under  the  spruce  boughs 
that  formed  his  mattress,  and  with  this  in  his 
hand  returned  to  the  door.  He  saw  Joe  about 
ten  yards  away,  gazing  at  him  over  the  top  of  some 
brush.  "  Here  your  plug  of  tobac  —  mighty  good 
tobac,"  he  said.    "  Time  for  'nother  smoke,  too." 

Joe  left  his  cover  at  that  and  advanced,  grinning 
broadly.  He  possessed  himself  of  the  tobacco 
without  entering  the  shack. 

"You  come  in,  we  smoke  inside,"  said  Sam. 
He  soon  had  a  fire  crackling,  and  by  that  time 
Joe  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  shack, 
his  round  snow-shoes  still  on  his  feet,  staring 
around  him.  Sam  divested  him  of  his  pack  of 
frozen  meat.  He  persuaded  him  to  take  off  his 
racquets  and  then,    feeling  easier  in  his  mind, 


in 

ii 


,■' 


ml 


t 

i, 


I'  •'i 


282    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

he  t-ok  the  meat  outside  and  put  it  up  on  the 
roof,  in  a  hole  in  the  crusted  snow. 

Joe  soon  began  to  feel  at  home,  and  pufted 
away  at  his  pipe  in  quite  his  old  jovial  manner. 
Suddenly  he  said,  "  Mate,  I  reckon  I  was  here 
afore,  once.  This  place  looks  familiar,  an'  no 
mistake." 

"Yes,  you  here  before,  I  guess,"  replied  the 
wily  old  trapper.  "  You  come  in  one  day  an' 
look  over  our  skins." 

Joe  nodded  his  tangled  head.  "Aye,  that's 
right,  mate  —  or  else  it  was  a  dream.  I  get 
that  mixed,  sometimes,  I  don't  know  if  I've  bin 
dreamin'  or  really  doin'  things." 

"  No,  you  not  dream,"  said  Sam.  "  You  here 
a'right.  You  look  at  skins  — chuck  'em  all 
'rotind  de  place  —  an'  you  pick  out  one  black 
fox  skin.  What  you  do  with  dat  black  fox 
skin?  " 

Joe  got  up  from  his  seat  on  the  edge  of  Dick's 
bimk  and  began  wandering  about  the  shack  with 
a  puzzled  but  hopeful  expression  on  such  portions 
of  his  face  as  were  visible  among  the  whiskers. 
He  examined  the  walls,  the  floor  and  the  low 
roof  —  Sam  watching  him  intently  all  the  while. 
At  last  he  went  to  Sam's  bunk,  knelt  upon  it  and 


THE   MOOSE 


283 


clawed  away  several  hand-fulls  of  the  moss  with 
which  the  wide  cracks  between  the  logs  were 
"  chinked."  Then  he  wedged  his  hand  into  the 
crack  and  presently  pulled  out  the  lost  black  fox 
skin,  dry,  glossy  and  undamaged.  "  Here  be  one 
o'  them,"  he  said,  dropping  it  on  the  bunk  and 
again  thrusting  his  hand  into  the  crack  between 
the  logs. 

Sam  sprang  from  his  seat  by  the  fire  and 
snatched  up  the  precious  skin.  He  examined  it 
carefully,  fearing  that  it  might  have  come  to 
harm  in  its  narrow  hiding-place;  but  with  his 
mind  at  rest  on  this  point  he  began  to  caper  about 
the  floor,  chuckling  with  delight.  He  stopped 
suddenly,  seeing  Joe  still  fumbling  about  with  his 
gnarled  fingers  between  the  logs  of  the  wall. 
"  What  you  doin'  now?  "  he  asked.  "  What  you 
lookin'  for  now?  "  Joe  turned  his  head.  His 
brow  was  puckered  with  the  concentration  of 
his  thoughts.  "  There  be  more  o'  them  black 
skins  somewhere,  mate,"  he  said.  "Sure  as  ye 
live,  there  be  more  somewheres." 

"  In  dis  shack?  "  cried  Sam.  "  More  in  dis 
shack?    In  de  walls  you  t'ink?  " 

"  I  can't  say  for  sure  where  they  be,"  returned 
the  other.     "  But  I  kinder  remember  more  o' 


j;j|j.j-iii-i]ijt«suftt«! 


284    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


\^. 


■i  i  • 


;i4l 


them  knockin'  about.  Queer,  how  my  memory 
gives  out." 

"  Did  you  hide  some  more  black  fox  skins  in 
dis  shack?  "  cried  Sam,  in  a  flutter  of  eagerness. 
"  Where  you  get  'em  all  anyhow?  Me  an'  Dick 
only  trap  one  —  dis  one.  You  t'inkin'  double,  I 
guess." 

Joe  shook  his  head.  "  I  dunno,  mate,"  he  said. 
"  I  don't  remember  very  good,  now-a-days.  But 
it  do  seem  to  me  I  seen  more  o'  them  black  skins 
somewhere,  some  time  or  other.  Aye,  ye  ma}- 
lay  to  that,  mate." 

Sam  did  not  know  just  what  to  make  of  this. 
Of  course  Joe  had  hidden  this  skin  in  the  wall  on 
the  same  day  that  he  had  sorted  it  out  from  among 
the  other  pelts;  but  even  if  other  black  fox  skins 
were  in  his  possession  it  was  not  likely  that  he 
had  hidden  them  in  the  shack.  But  there  was  a 
chance  of  it.  Who  could  say  what  tricks  a  crazy 
fellow  like  Joe  might  be  up  to? 


1 11 


i 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

FLAP  -  JACKS.        DICK     RETURNS     TO     THE     SHACK. 
JOE   REMEMBERS  TO   SOME    PURPOSE 

Sober  Sam  spent  two  hours  in  picking  the  moss 
from  the  wider  cracks  in  the  walls  of  the  cabin, 
feeling  about  between  the  logs,  and  then  wedging 
the  moss  back  into  place.  Joe  watched  him  for 
part  of  the  time,  puzzled  but  interested ;  but  after 
an  hour  of  it  he  returned  to  the  warm  hearth  and 
babbled  to  himself  about  his  seafaring  past. 
Sam  looked  rather  sheepish  after  he  had  finished 
the  job  of  unchinking  and  rechinking  the  walls. 
"  Darn  fool!  "  he  muttered.  He  cooked  a  good 
dinner  (as  dinners  go  in  that  wilderness  when  the 
supply  of  "  store  grub  "  is  almost  come  to  an 
end)  and  they  topped  it  off  with  tea  and  pipes. 
Joe,  of  course,  ate  more  than  he  should  have,  and 
fell  asleep  by  the  fire  as  soon  as  his  pipe  was 
smoked  to  the  heel.  Sam  took  this  opportunity 
to  hide  the  black  fox  skin  in  a  safe  place,  for  there 
was  no  saying  how  soon  the  wild  man  might  try 
his  hand  at  pilfering  again.    After  Joe  had  snored 

285 


^  ;i 


I 


■i.i 


i.        '         s 

I '  f 


1  » 


286    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

and  grunted  for  about  an  hour  and  made  many 
whimpering,  dog-like  noises  in  his  dreams,  Sam 
awakened  him.  They  put  on  their  snow-shoes 
and  outer  coats,  took  up  the  traps  and  some  meat 
for  bait,  and  set  out  to  make  good  part  of  the 
damage  caused  to  the  lines  of  traps  by  neglect  and 
Joe's  wholesale  robberies.  They  set  about  three 
miles  of  the  westward  line  to  rights,  finding  that 
such  traps  as  had  not  been  troubled  by  Joe  and 
the  panther  had  been  visited  by  a  wolverine. 
But  Sam  did  not  grumble.  Dick  had  been  found, 
alive  and  almost  well,  and  the  black  fox  skin  was 
in  the  hands  of  its  rightful  owners  again.  Pros- 
pects looked  brighter  — and  spring-time  was  near. 

Joe  set  out  for  the  den,  after  supper.  The 
woods  and  lonely  barrens  were  m  afe  for  him, 
and  as  undaunting,  by  night  as  by  day.  Sam 
remained  at  the  shack,  for  the  morrow  promised 
to  be  a  uusy  day  with  him. 

Sam  started  for  the  mountain  early  next  morn- 
ing; but  he  took  the  trail  through  the  heavy 
timber  along  the  left  hand  shore  of  the  lake,  and 
reset  such  traps  as  he  could  find  as  he  went  along. 
He  carried  his  rifle  and  axe,  a  frying-pan,  a  tiny 
^ig  of  flour,  a  little  fat  pork,  baking-powder  and 
a    small  package  of  currants.     These  were  all 


FLAP  -  JACKS 


287 


fastened  neatl>  »  ,iis  roUed-up  blankets ;  and  in 
a  pocket  of  his  jumper  lay  a  pot  of  beef  extract, 
a  little  tin  of  salt  and  a  tin  of  condensed  milk. 
He  should  have  had  some  sugar  or  molasses,  too; 
but  not  a  grain  or  a  drop  of  "  svveet'nin'  "  re- 
mained in  the  shack.  "  Guess  Dick  need  feedin'," 
he  reflected,  as  he  trudged  along.  "  Change 
of  food  what  he  want  —  and  one  good  belly-fuU 
of  flap-jacks  make  him  strong  as  ever,  maybe." 
He  reached  the  den  in  time  to  take  the  cooking 
of  the  dinner  in  hand.  First  of  all,  he  made  beef- 
tea  for  Dick,  in  hopes  of  blunting  the  edge  of 
that  young  man's  appetite  before  the  flap-jacks 
appeared.  Dick  drank  th^  'yeef-tea  in  two  winks 
and  asked  Joe  for  the  rest  of  his  dinner  quick. 
"  You  hoi'  on,"  said  Sam.  "  You  goin'  to  get 
a  mighty  fine  dinner  to-day  —  best  you  get  for 
long  time." 

He  mixed  up  a  batter  in  Joe's  rusty  kettle  — 
a  batter  consisting  of  flour,  water,  baking  powder, 
condensed  milk,  salt  and  currants.  The  others 
watched  eagerly.  Sam  rubbed  the  frying-pan 
well  with  the  fat  pork,  and  placed  it  on  the  fire. 

"  Hi,  mate!  "  exclaimed  Joe,  "  don't  ye  go  an' 
spile  it  now  by  fry  in'  it.  Put  the  kittle  on  the 
fire,  just  as  ye  have  it,  an'  then  we'll  get  a  good 


Inif 


288    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

plum  duff.    Aye,  a  plum  duff  just  like  the  doctor 
ust  to  make  aboard  the  Sea  Robin." 

*'  I  cook  dis.  Doctor  ain't  cookin'  dis  grub," 
returned  Sam,  scornfully.  He  tested  the  heat  of 
the  pan  and  rubbed  on  more  fat.  "  Gupss  dat 
a'right,"  he  said.  "  Now  gimme  elbow-room. 
Can't  make  fin o- jacks  with  two  big  men  an'  one 
painter  hangin'    over  my  shoulders." 

Sam  poured  enough  of  the  batter  from  the  kettle 
to  cover  the  bottom  of  the  frying-pan.  It  sizzled 
as  it  ran  and  spread  over  the  hot,  well-greased  pan ; 
bubbles  quickly  appeared  and  burst  on  the  creamy 
surface ;  the  edges  showed  a  narrow  line  of  brown 
and  a  fine  scent  filled  the  air.  "  Time  to  flip! 
Don't  let  it  burn!  "  ?ried  Dick. 

"  You  never  mind,"  said  Sam.  "  Dis  dinner 
my  business,  I  guess."  He  ran  the  point  of  his 
knife  around  the  edge  of  the  batter;  then  with- 
drew the  pan  from  the  fire  and  gave  it  a  sharp 
upward  jerk  and  twist.  The  sound,  limp  cake 
jumped  into  he  air,  flapp'^d  over  and  descended 
again  to  the  pan,  now  brown  side  up.  An  exclama- 
tion of  relief  escaped  Dick  at  the  success  of  the 
operation;  and  Sam,  with  a  modest  smile,  re- 
placed the  pan  on  the  fire.  That  flap-jack  was 
soon  removed  from  the  pan  and  placed  on  a  clean 


/iTi'-v; 


FLAP  - JACKS 


289 


sheet  of  birch  bark  on  the  hoarth-stone,  to  keep 
warm,  and  more  batter  was  poured  from  the 
kettle.  There  was  enough  batter  to  make  ten 
flap-jacks,  each  about  eight  inches  in  diameter 
and  a  quarter  of  an  inch  thick.  Dick  ate  four  of 
them;  and  then,  seeing  that  his  chances  for  more 
were  not  promising,  he  cleaned  out  the  kettle  and 
made  himself  another  pint  or  so  of  beef-tea.  Joe 
ate  his  flap-jacks  in  silence.  Then  he  licked  his 
fingers. 

"Mate,"  said  he,  "them  little  kickshaws  beat 
any  duff  that  ever  was  biled.  Now  who  lamed 
ye  to  make  'em,  I'd  like  to  know.  'Twasn't  the 
doctor,  I'll  give  my  Alfy  Davy  to  that." 

"  Yes,  they  were  good  —  but  mighty  few  of 
them,"  said  Dick. 

Sam  still  had  a  fragment  of  the  last  flap-jack 
in  his  hand.  He  looked  at  Bill  the  panther,  who 
W£is  gnawing  on  a  bone  with  an  injured,  left-out- 
of-it  sort  of  air.  Joe  saw  the  look.  "  Don't  'e  give 
it  to  Bill,  mate,"  he  cried,  "  or  he'll  be  wantin* 
the  like  o'  it  three  times  a  day.  By  jinks,  mate, 
I'll  take  it  myself  if  ye  don't  want  it." 

Sam  shook  his  head  and  devoured  the  last 
fragment. 

Sam  spent  the  night  at  the  den;    and  in  the 


k-t 


290    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

morning  Dick  declared  himself  ready  for  the 
journey  to  the  shack.  By  the  time  he  had  dressed 
himself  for  the  outer  air,  however,  and  fastened 
the  thongs  of  his  snow-shoes,  he  did  not  feel  quite 
so  fit.  But  as  the  others  were  ready  and  waiting, 
he  would  not  draw  back.  The  sun  was  well  above 
the  tree-tops,  in  a  clear  ,?ky,  and  a  brisk  wind  was 
blowing  from  the  fair-weather  quarter.  The  sun- 
shine almost  blinded  him  and  the  frosty  wind 
seemed  to  snatch  the  breath  from  his  nostrils; 
for  he  had  been  in  the  gloom  of  the  den  many  days, 
and  for  many  days  without  food.  The  gigantic 
meals  of  the  last  few  days  had  really  not  done 
as  much  for  him  as  one  would  suppose.  His 
legs  felt  terribly  weak  and  his  head  light  as  a 
feather;  but  Sam  and  Joe  started  along  the  trail 
and  he  staggered  after  them.  Bill,  the  panther, 
slunk  along  at  his  heels. 

Dick's  head  soon  began  to  feel  more  solid, 
and  among  the  thick  trees  through  which  the 
trail  led,  twisting  down  the  mountain,  the  wind 
lost  half  its  force  and  the  sunshine  was  subdued 
to  a  green  gloom ;  but  the  weakness  at  his  knees 
did  not  improve.  He  found  that  he  had  about 
all  that  he  could  do  to  lift  his  snow-shoes  from 
the  well  beaten  path,  and  he  had  the  vaguest 


FLAP -JACKS 


291 


I! 


notion  of  how  far  forward  the  lifted  foot  intended 
to  go,  at  every  step  -lie  others  did  not  look 
around  until  a  clatt(  •  of  racquet  i  and  a  grunt  of 
disgust  caused  them  o  turn  —  a  id  there  was  poor 
Dick  in  a  heap.  They  lifted  liim  and  set  him  go- 
ing again ;  but  he  was  down  again  in  ten  minutes. 

"  Guess  you  don't  walk  so  good  as  you  eat," 
said  Sam.  *'  Here,  you  lemme  tote  you  a  bit." 
He  unfastened  his  partner's  snow-shoes  and 
handed  them  to  Joe;  then  he  crouched  in  the 
trail  in  front  of  Dick  and  got  him  on  his  back. 
Sam  was  short  and  broad,  and  Dick  was  long  — 
especially  in  the  legs.  Their  progression  sug- 
gested an  ant  carrying  a  spider.  Dick's  feet 
dragged  in  the  snow  beside  the  deep  trail.  So 
they  went  down  the  mountain-side,  greatly  to 
the  delight  of  Joe  Banks,  who  followed  close, 
laughing  shrilly.  At  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  Sam 
let  Dick  slide  to  the  ground.  "  Here,  you,"  he 
said  to  Joe,  "  you  tote  'im  a  bit  if  you  t'ink  it  so 
darn  funny." 

"  Oh,  I  can  walk  now,"  said  Dick. 

"I'll  give  ye  a  lift,  mate,"  cried  Joe.  "  Don't 
ye  fret  about  me,  for  I  was  the  strongest  man, 
for'ard  or  aft,  aboard  the  Sea  Robin.  Get  up. 
That's  the  talk.    Now  we're  off." 


11:11 


292    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

With  Dick's  knees  gripped  tightly  under  his 
arms  and  Dick's  arms  around  his  neck,  he  started 
along  the  trail  at  a  trot.  "  What's  your  hurry?  " 
asked  Dick,  holding  hard.  Joe  did  not  reply  in 
words,  but  chuckled  and  increased  his  pace.  Sam 
and  the  panther  also  broke  into  a  run.  How  Joe 
managed  to  keep  his  feet  as  long  as  he  did  was  a 
wonder  —  and  how  Dick  managed  to  stick  to 
him  was  another  wonder.  Through  snatching 
thickets  of  young  spruce  they  plunged  and  over 
fallen  logs  and  drifted  brush  they  flew.  They 
took  the  numerous  kinks  and  corners  of  the  trail 
at  a  gallop  and  the  bumps  and  hollows  with  mad 
leaps.  If  Dick  had  felt  stronger  he  might  have 
enjoyed  it;  but  feeling  as  he  did  he  simply  gripped 
tight  with  arms  and  legs,  held  his  head  low  behind 
Joe's  neck  and  shut  his  eyes.  In  this  way,  and 
at  this  mad  pace,  the  thickets  of  the  swamp  were 
met  and  overcome.  The  edge  of  the  lake  was 
reached  —  and  here  Joe  came  down  as  if  he  had 
been  shot  and  Dick  went  flying  over  his  head 
and  landed,  sprawling,  in  six  feet  of  driftai  snow. 
He  scrambled  out  in  time  to  see  the  wild  man 
doubling  back  into  the  woods.  He  shouted  after 
him;  but  the  mariner  vanished,  still  going  at  top 
speed.     "  That  beats  the  band,"  said  Dick. 


MM^.^.^ 


•mmsm: 


FLAP -JACKS 


293 


Sam  appeared  in  a  minute,  and  listened  calmly 
to  the  news  of  Joe's  sudden  change  of  course. 
"  Dat.  nothin'  — for  .i."  he  said.  "He  jes* 
t'ink  of  somethin'  he  forget;  or  maybe  he  jes' 
change  his  mind  quick.  He  be  at  shack  a'right 
in  time  for  dinner,  yes,  you  bet." 

As  Bill  the  panther  had  also  vanished,  the 
partners  went  straight  down  the  lake  to  the  shack. 
Dick  lay  down  in  his  btmk,  thoroughly  done  but 
glad  to  be  home  again.  Sam  lit  the  fire  and  then 
produced  the  recovered  black  fox  skin.  This 
was  the  first  Dick  had  heard  of  its  return  to  light, 
and  his  spirits  went  up  like  a  rocket.  "  Why,  we 
are  right  as  rain,  after  all,"  he  cried.  "  We've 
had  some  jolly  h'rd  luck,  I  must  say  —  but  it 
looks  as  if  good  luck  would  just  about  set  it 
straight.  We'll  clear  a  bit  on  our  winter's  work, 
won't  we,  Sam?  " 

"  Pretty  good,  you  bet,"  returned  Sam.  "  You 
done  better  a'ready  nor  plenty  ol'  trappers  I  know. 
Dis  good  country  —  a' mighty  good  country. 
Guess  we  have  one  few  dollars  to  spend  when  we 
strike  de  settlements,  Dick." 

Dick  fell  asleep  with  the  precious  skin  in  his 
hands.  Sam  got  in  a  pile  of  wood,  chopped  out 
the  hole  in  the  lake  and  brought  up  water,  and 


294    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


then  filled  his  pipe  and  sat  down  to  wait  until  it 
was  time  to  get  dinner. 

Neither  Joe  nor  the  panther  titmed  up  at  the 
shack  for  dinner.  Dick  ate  as  much  as  Sam  would 
give  him  —  which  was  enough  for  two  ordinary 
men  but  somewhat  less  than  he  wanted  —  and 
then  returned  to  his  bunk  and  slumber.  Sam 
pottered  about  the  vicinity  of  the  shack  all  after- 
noon, airing  the  store  of  pelts  in  the  wind  and 
simshine  and  chopping  a  little  wood.  He  won- 
dered what  had  kept  Joe  away  from  dinner,  but 
felt  sure  that  he  would  visit  the  shack  in  time 
for  supper.  Shortly  after  simset  he  went  in 
and  mixed  another  batter  for  flap-jacks  —  but 
this  time  of  corn-meal  instead  of  flour.  Provisions 
of  this  kind  were  very  low;  but  he  wanted  to 
celebrate  Dick's  return  to  health  and  the  shack 
in  a  manner  that  suited  his  own  ideas  of  the 
fitness  of  things  and  was,  at  the  same  time,  highly 
acceptable  to  Dick.  The  lantern  was  lit  and  half 
the  flap- jacks  were  fried  when  there  sounded  a 
furtive  knocking  on  the  door.  Sam  opened  it 
qtiickly,  and  after  a  moment's  hesitation  in 
stepped  Joe  Banks.  The  panther  slunk  in  at  his 
heels.  Joe  wore  the  bear  skin  over  his  shoulders  and 
was  grinning  with  even  more  abandon  than  usual. 


i'i^i^:^: 


FLAP  -  JACKS 


295 


"  Where  you  bin?  Why  you  don't  come  to 
dinner?  "  asked  Sam. 

"  And  why  did  you  spill  me  over  your  head 
and  then  run  away?  "  asked  Dick. 

"  Well,  mates,  to  tell  'e  the  honest  truth,  I 
remembered  something,"  repUed  Joe.  "  It  come 
to  my  mind  that  sudden  I  stopped  rimnin'  too 
quick,  an'  fell  down.  Hope  I  didn't  hurt  ye  none, 
lad." 

"  No,  I  am  all  right,"  Dick  assured  him.  "  But 
what  was  it  you  remembered  so  suddenly?  It 
must  have  been  very  important  to  bring  you  to 
such  a  short  stop." 

"  Not  much.  'Twasn't  much,  after  all,"  re- 
turned the  wild  man.  He  looked  at  Sam.  "  Did 
ye  say  something,  one  day,  about  fox  skins  — 
about  fox  skins  ye  lost?  " 

"  Yes,  black  fox  skin.  You  give  him  back,"  said 
Sam,  letting  one  of  the  flap-jacks  bum  to  a  crisp 
in  the  pan. 

Joe  flung  back  his  cloak  of  bear  skin  and  pro- 
duced a  long,  flat  package  from  under  his  left 
arm.  "  If  ye  want  these  here,  mates,  ye  kin  ha\  e 
'em,"  he  said.  "  I  had  'em  tucked  away  in  a  hole 
in  a  tree  —  an'  I'll  eat  my  whiskers  if  I  know  where 
I  got  'em! " 


I 


296    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


H« 


Sam  snatched  the  package  from  his  hands  and 
threw  aside  the  sheets  of  birch-bark  in  which  it 
was  folded.  Three  black  fox  skins!  A  sort  of 
gasping  grunt  escaped  the  old  trapper.  He  raised 
the  skins  close  to  his  eyes,  fingering  them  to  see  if 
they  were  real  —  or  some  foolish  vision.  Dick 
sprang  from  his  bunk. 

"  But  they  are  black  fox!  "  he  cried.  "  They 
are  very  valuable !  You  must  not  give  them  to  us, 
Joe." 

Joe  laughed,  long  and  loud.  "  Take  'em,"  he 
said.  "  I  don't  want  'em.  Take  'em,  mates,  an' 
welcome.  But  ye  may  as  well  look  to  the  galley 
fire,  doctor.    Something  seems  to  be  burning." 

But  Sam  looked  at  Dick.  "  These  all  fresh 
skins  —  dis  winter  skins,"  he  said.  "We  take 
'em  a'right,  you  bet.  Dey  come  from  our  traps, 
I  t'ink." 


[\i 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

SPRING.      THE    WAY   OUT 

During  the  remainder  of  the  season  the  partners 
did  not  over-exert  themselves  at  the  work  of  trap- 
ping. With  the  skins  of  four  black  foxes,  and  with 
otter,  mink,  common  fox,  lynx,  ermine,  wolf  and 
bear  skins  to  the  value  of  hundreds  of  dollars,  they 
could  well  afford  to  spend  the  fag-end  of  the  winter 
in  whatever  way  appealed  to  them.  They  treated 
Joe  Banks  like  a  brother,  and  persuaded  him 
to  change  his  place  of  habitation  from  the  den 
on  the  mountain  to  the  shack.  Each  gave  him 
articles  of  wearing  apparel,  and  Sam  made  him 
several  pairs  of  good  moccasins.  For  days  to- 
gether Joe  remained  with  them,  grinning  and 
talkative;  and  then,  of  a  sudden,  his  black  mood 
would  come  to  him  and  drive  him  back  to  soli- 
tude and  the  mountain  den. 

Now  came  the  season  of  close-gripped,  equal 
struggle  between  winter  and  spring.  For  several 
hours  every  day  the  power  of  the  sun,  helped 
perhaps  by  a  wind  from  the  south    or    south- 

207 


* 


298    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


f 


east,  would  melt  the  surface  of  the  deep  snow 
that  blanketed  all  that  vast  wilderness;  and 
all  night  the  power  of  the  frost  worked  to  re- 
pair what  the  sun  had  weakened.  In  this  way 
the  frosts  and  barrens  and  drifted  lakes  were  en- 
cased in  a  tough  crust  that  would  carry  a  man, 
either  with  or  without  racquets,  except  for  an 
hour  or  two  at  noon-day.  So  it  was  for  several 
weeks;  and  this  was  the  time  chosen  by  Dick 
to  explore  the  surroimding  countr>  -  -  for  explora- 
tion, not  trapping,  was  his  ambition.  In  these 
days  of  hard  crusts  and  easy  travelling  he  ranged 
the  wilderness  in  every  direction,  sometimes  ac- 
companied by  Sober  Sam  but  more  often  by 
Joe  Banks.  He  had  learned  something  of  map- 
making  at  school,  and  with  his  compass,  note-book 
and  pencils  he  mapped  Two- Fox  Pond  and  Wig- 
wam Mountain,  Smoky  Pot  and  the  head  waters 
of  Smoky  River,  the  barrens,  hills  and  forest  for 
miles  ctround  and  ten  nameless  lakes.  His  maps 
were  rough  but  fairly  accurate,  and  were  sup- 
ported by  full  and  useful  notes  and  some  clever 
sketches  of  the  animals  and  timber  of  the  country. 
Months  later,  in  the  city  of  Quebec,  he  elaborated 
these  maps,  notes  and  sketches  into  a  series  of 
papers  that  were  published  in  a  Canadian  maga- 


'^wwm 


SPRING 


299 


zine.  By  these  he  won  his  first  recognition  as  an 
explorer.  But  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  our 
present  story. 

At  last  the  snow  dwindled  perceptibly,  mild 
winds  blew  and  rain  fell.     Sam  chopped  a  hole 
through  the  weakened  ice  of  the  lake  and,  using 
pork  fat  for  bait,  caught  plenty  of  big  trout. 
He  also  cut  notches  in  the  trunks  of  several  dozen 
of  sugar  maples  and  by  means  of  wood  "  spiles  " 
and  vessels  of  birch-bark  collected,  day  by  day,  a 
quantity  of  sweet  sap.    This  was  boiled  down  to 
syrup  over  a  fire  in  the  open,  Joe's  rusty  kettle 
and  the  partners'  tv.o  kettles  being  used  as  boiling- 
pots.     A  quantity  of  the  syrup  thus  toilfuUy  ob- 
tained was  still  further  reduced,  by  more  boiling, 
to  sugar.     During  these  busy  days,  the  sun,  the 
mild  winds  and  mild  rains  were  working  swiftly 
and  steadily.    The     ilderness  was  full  of  the  soft 
sounds  of  their  activities  —  now  a  dvill  cracking  on 
the  lake  proclaimed  the  loosening  of  the  ice  along 
the  shore,  and  now  a  dull  thud,  so  soft  in  tone 
that  the  ear  cotdd  not  tell  if  it  were  far  or  near, 
gave  news  of  the  falling  of  an  undermined  snow- 
drift  into  a  newly  freed  stream. 

Now  came  a  time  when  it  was  almost  impossible 
to  travel  in  the  woods,  for  water  and  slush  drained 


I  i 


lir 


[if 


i    t: 


!    ^1 


300    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

down  every  slope  and  lay  in  pools  on  all  the  levels. 
Now  the  ice  on  Two- Fox  Pond  was  grey  as  a 
slate ;  and  the  eager  water  beneath  it,  swelled  by 
the  drainage  of  the  forests,  arose  one  night,  lifted 
it  from  its  hold  upon  the  shores,  and  broke  it  into 
a  thousand  great  "  pans."  At  the  same  time  the 
river  opened  for  a  distance  of  about  two  miles 
below  the  lake,  breaking  free  with  gigantic 
strength  and  fury  and  piling  the  shores  and  the 
ice  below  with  fragments  of  its  prison.  That  night 
and  the  following  day  were  filled  with  the  voices 
of  battling  we^pts  and  rending  and  cracking  ice. 
Now  Sober  .m  brought  his  canoe  from  its 
shelter  and  resined  the  seams  in  the  bark.  Dick 
and  Joe  watched  him ;  and  for  a  little  while  Joe's 
face  wore  an  expression  of  wistful  longing  as  he 
gazed  at  the  canoe,  though  he  had  already  lefused 
the  partners'  pressing  offers  to  take  him  out  to 
the  settlements  with  them.  Sam  glanced  up 
from  his  work  and  caught  the  look.  "  Guess  you 
come  'long  with  us  after  all,"  he  said.  Joe  shook 
his  head  and  grinned.  "There  ye're  wrong, 
mate,"  he  said.  "  I'd  like  fine  to  go  for  a  v'yage 
with  the  two  o'  ye ;  but  I  reckon  as  how  the  settle- 
ments ain't  no  pla^  for  me  —  for  me  an*  Bill  here. 
I  know  what  the  harbour-master  an'  sich-like 


SPRING 


301 


folk  would  do.  They'd  say  I  was  crazy  —  yes, 
ye  may  lay  to  that!  —  an'  they'd  put  me  in  a 
mad-house  an'  Sill  here  into  a  wild  beast  show. 
Aye,  mates,  that's  what  they'd  do,  sure  as  my 
name's  Joe  Banks,  bosun." 

Sam  was  silent,  foi  Joe  had  struck  the  nail  on 
the  head,  and  no  mistake.  But  Dick  spoke  up. 
"  Perhaps  the  people  in  the  settlements  and  town 
would  think  you  crazy,  Joe,  but  Sam  and  I  know 
that  you  are  sound  as  a  bell.  So  don't  you  go 
back  to  that  den  when  we  leave.  Thut  is  enough 
to  make  any  man  feel  queer  in  the  head.  You 
and  Bill  must  live  here ;  and  you  can  do  a  bit  of 
trapping  to  put  in  the  time.  Sam  showed  you 
how  to  set  the  traps.  And  as  I've  taught  you  to 
shoot,  here  is  my  rifle  and  all  the  cartridges  I  have 
left.  You'll  find  it  an  easier  job  to  get  moose  and 
caribou  with  a  rifle  than  with  a  knife." 

"  Dick,  ye're  a  good  lad,  an'  no  mistake!  " 
exclaimed  Joe.  *'  Now  Bill  an'  me  will  live  like 
kings."  Then  he  frowned.  "  But  what  if  I  go 
an'  hide  it  away  somewhere  I  can't  find  it?  " 
he  asked  mournfully,  "  I  do  queer  things,  ye 
know  —  an'  I  might  do  that." 

"  No  danger,"  said  Dick  in  a  voice  of  forced 
conviction.     "  You  need  this  rifle,  it  is  more  im- 


302    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


i  n 


portant  than  your  knife  —  and  you  don't  hide 
that  away.  Why,  it  would  be  like  a  crazy  man 
to  go  and  hide  his  rifle.  You  just  put  your  mind 
to  it,  Joe.  Remember  that  you  need  it.  You  are 
a  trapper,  now,  and  live  in  a  good  shack,  and  you 
can't  get  along  without  your  rifle.  And  be  careful 
of  your  cartridges,  for  you  haven't  a  great  many. 
Don't  go  shooting  at  everything  you  see.  And 
don't  shoot  moose  and  caribou  until  the  weather 
gets  cold  again  —  and  don't  set  your  traps  until 
then,  either." 

"  I've  got  that  all  straight,"  replied  Joe,  tap- 
ping his  forehead  with  the  tips  of  his  long  fingers. 
"  But  I  reckon  I  w^n't  trouble  much  with  trappin' ; 
for  ye  and  Sam  will  be  back  afore  next  snow." 

"  But  in  case  we  don't  get  back,"  said  Dick. 
"  Just  in  case  we  don't." 

"  We  come  b.^ck,  a'right,"  said  Sam,  staring 
at  Dick  across  the  u])turned  canoe.  "  Yes, 
V.Jk,  you  an'  mc  come  back  afore  the  snow  flies, 
you  bet.  Dis  mighty  fine  country  —  dis  black 
fox  country.  You  a'mighty  big  fool,  Dick,  if 
you  don't  trap  dis  country  nex'  winter.  Yes, 
dat  right.  You  t'ink  now  you  have  plenty  of  this 
kinder  life  —  too  much  snow,  too  much  cold,  too 
much  sleep  in  bunk  an'  snow-shoe  all  day  —  but 


SPRING 


303 


pretty  soon  you  get  tired  of  sleeping  in  bed  an' 
settin'  on  one  chair,  an'  wearin'  boots  instead  of 
moccasins.  Yes,  dat  right.  Den  you  t'ink  of  dis 
country  an'  dis  shack,  an'  of  old  Sober  Sam. 
Your  money,  it  go,  go,  go  —  an'  den  remember  all 
dis  fine  country  an'  de  fox  an'  mink  an'  otter 
waitin*  to  get  catched.  Yes,  I  know.  You  get 
tired  of  potatoes  an'  pies  an'  fine  city  grub,  an' 
den  you  want  good  big  hunk  of  fried  moose-meat, 
and  some  of  (jld  "  m's  flap-jacks,  ^h,  y€s,  I 
know  all  uat.  You  begin  to  holler  for  y  -t  '  .rtner 
pretty  soon  —  for  Sober  Sam  an'  his  canoe.  You 
t'ink  of  g<  )od  traps  left  in  dis  shack,  an'  how  you 
see  wolves  chase  caribou  an'  you  an'  me  chase 
wolves  —  an'  you  pack  your  blankets  an'  come 
back."  He  turned  to  Joe.  "  Yes,  me  an'  Dick 
come  back  afore  snow  flies  agin.  So  you  keep 
shack  good  an'  dry,  an'  traps  also,  an'  we  bring 
in  plenty  good  grub  and  tobac." 

Joe  nodded;  but  Dick  did  not  say  anything 
or  even  look  at  the  old  Indian  for  several  min- 
utes. He  felt  that  he  had  seen  and  suffered  enough 
of  the  Two- Fox  Pond  country  to  last  him  for 
many  years,  and  of  late  he  had  allowed  himself  to 
dream  of  exploration  rather  than  trapping,  and 
the  hot  jungles  of  the  South  instead  of  the  white 


304    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


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vastnesses  of  the  North.  But  perhaps  the  old 
trapper  was  right,  after  all;  perhaps  he  knew 
more  of  the  way  Dick  wotild  feel  in  the  near  future 
than  Dick  did  himself.  Youth  delights  in  change, 
even  if  in  only  a  change  of  hardships  and  dangers ; 
and  Dick  was  young  and  Sober  Sam  was  old.  On 
the  other  hand  (Dick  continued  to  reflect),  this 
was  a  country  of  good  furs  —  and  of  black  foxes. 
It  was  an  imknown  country,  overlooked  or  for- 
gotten by  Indian  and  half-breed  trappers.  An- 
other winter  covld  be  spent  here  to  great  advan- 
tage, from  a  financial  point  of  view.  And,  after 
all,  money  was  what  he  needed  —  golder  eys 
with  which  to  open  the  mysterious  doors  of  the 
unexplored  places  of  the  earth. 

Dick  walked  away  from  the  canoe,  stood  for  a 
while  looking  out  across  the  dark  surface  of  the 
swollen,  ice-dotted  lake,  then  turned  and  retraced 
his  steps. 

"  You  are  right,  Sam,"  he  said.  "  I  believe 
we'll  come  back  and  put  in  another  winter  to- 
gether in  this  good  fur  country." 

"  Yes,  you  come  a'right,"  returned  Sam,  "  I 
come  back  pretty  early,  an'  bring  in  little  grub 
to  Joe,  an'  go  out  agin  and  get  you  same 
time  an'  same  place  as  last  fall.     You  a' mighty 


1 1 


SPRING 


305 


fine  trapper,  Dick.  You  want  to  come  back  to  dis 
country  soon  as  you  get  first  sniff  of  frost  in  de 
air." 

"  We  won't  make  any  plans  now,"  said  Dick, 
smiling.  "But  I  think  you  are  right.  I  think 
I'll  join  you  for  one  more  winter." 

The  days  slipped  by,  some  bright  and  some 
cloudy  but  all  warm  with  the  breath  of  spring. 
The  ice  went  out  of  the  lake  and  out  of  the  river 
—  out  of  thousands  of  rivers,  churning  and  crash- 
ing —  and  at  last  a  few  battered  cakes  of  it  drifted 
into  salt  water.  Now  all  the  snow  was  gone  save 
where  ghosts  of  the  deepest  drifts  still  lay  in  the 
darkest  hollows  of  the  forest.  The  canoe  lay  at 
the  edge  of  the  lake ;  the  furs,  done  up  in  a  com- 
pact bale  with  a  moose  hide  laced  tightly  around 
it,  lay  on  a  dry  log  beside  the  canoe.  And  the 
partners,  too,  were  ready.  They  had  left  half  the 
sugar,  a  pound  of  tea,  and  two  of  the  four  remain- 
ing plugs  of  tobacco  with  Joe.  Their  provisions 
for  the  long  journey  consisted  of  a  little  tea,  flour 
and  salt,  about  forty  pounds  of  smoked  trout  and 
moose-meat  and  a  few  pounds  of  maple  sugar. 

Sam  lifted  the  canoe  and  slid  it  into  the  water ; 
and  while  Dick  held  her  steady  by  one  gunnel  he 
placed  the  pelts  and  provisions  amidships,  with 


;*^ 


306    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 


an  axe  on  one  side  and  a  rifle  on  the  other,  frying- 
pan  and  kettle  in  convenient  nooks,  a  paddle  and 
spruce-pole  in  the  bow  and  another  pole  in  the 
stern,  sticking  far  out  behind  like  a  cocked- up 
tail.    He  had  another  paddle  in  his  hand. 

"  Now  you  get  in,  Dick,"  he  said,  steadying  the 
canoe  with  the  blade  of  his  paddle.  Dick  stepped 
into  the  bow  and  knelt  low,  leaning  against  the 
bar  behind  him  and  the  end  of  the  bale  of  furs. 
Then  Sam  stepped  into  the  stern  and  pushed  off 
from  the  shore.  Joe  and  Bill  the  panther  stood 
on  the  top  of  the  bank. 

The  partners  turned. 

"  Good-bye,  Joe.  Take  care  of  yourself,"  called 
Dick. 

"  I'll  bring  you  plenty  grub  an'  tobac,"  called 
Sam. 

"  Good-bye,  mates.  See  ye  later,"  replied  Joe 
Banks,  with  his  face  still  wreathed  in  its  habitual 
grin. 

The  canoe  slipped  out  and  Sam  dipped  the 
paddle.  Dick,  with  his  face  over  his  shotdder, 
watched  Joe  and  the  trail  of  smoke  from  the 
chimney  of  the  shack  until  they  were  hidden  by  a 
spur  of  the  forest.  Then  he  faced  forward  and 
took  up  his  paddle;  but  he  could  not  banish  Joe 


SPRING 


307 


and  the  panther  from  his  thoughts.  Poor  old 
Joe  alone  in  the  wilderness  again.  And  the 
memory  of  that  good-humovired,  innocent  grin 
was  pitiful. 

"  It  is  a  blessing  that  he  is  cracked,"  he  said. 
Sam's  thoughts  had  been  with  the  wild  man  too. 
"  Oh,  no,"  he  said.  "  For  if  he  wasn't  cracked 
he'd  be  comin'  out  with  us,  Dick,  an'  maybe  have 
a  fling  in  the  settlements.  But  he  darn  good  feller, 
anyhow  —  an'  dat  Bill  not  so  bad  when  you  know 
'im.  It  pretty  near  make  me  laugh  to  t'ink  how 
scart  you  was  of  them  two,  Dick." 

"  Not  so  scared  as  you,"  returned  Dick. 
The  swollen  waters  carried  the  canoe  along,  out 
of  the  lake  and  into  the  racing,  muddy  currents 
of  the  river.  Sam  kept  th«  blade  of  his  paddle 
down,  steering  without  stroking.  T)ick  drew  his 
paddle  from  the  water  and  leaned  back,  for  there 
wpf-  >  need  of  working.  The  moving  sunlight 
f.  •  over  the  innumerable  black  spires  and 
sh  '  ^  buttresses  of  the  forest.  A  flock  of  geese 
flew  over  the  canoe,  high  up,  heading  northward 
in  quest  of  some  quiet  breeding  place  beyond  the 
knowledge  of  man.  They  swept  along  in  two 
diverging,  swaying  hives  behind  their  leader,  and 
the  "  cronk,  cronk  "  of  their  crying  beat  down 


308    COMRADES  OF  THE  TRAILS 

to  the  re-awakened  wilderness.  Dick  looked  up 
and  did  not  envy  them  their  northward  flight. 
It  was  better  to  be  outbound  from  the  desolate 
vastnesses  of  wood  and  water ;  better  to  be  heading 
down  stream,  by  racing  reach  and  foaming  rapid, 
toilsome  portage  and  roaming  fall,  to  the  haunts 
of  men.  At  Wolf's  Landing  there  were  letters 
from  home  awaiting  him,  and  papers  and  maga- 
zines, and  a  bed  with  sheets  —  and  perhaps  (who 
knows)  a  bath-tub  of  sorts  and  plenty  of  hot 
water  There  he  would  part  with  Sober  Sam,  and 
go  by  wagon  and  rail  to  the  narrow  streets  and  tall 
houses,  and  to  the  bxxstle  and  lights  and  comforts 
of  the  ancient  city  of  Quebec.  Oh,  yes,  it  was  a 
long  journey  between  here  and  there — but 
civilization  waited  at  the  end  of  it. 

"  Yes,  dat  a'right,"  remarked  Sam,  suddenly. 
"You  mighty  glad  you  goin'  out,  Dick  —  but 
you  be  mighty  glad  when  you  an'  me  head  up 
stream  agin,  nex'  fall." 

"  How  did  you  know  what  I  was  thinking 
about?  "  asked  Dick. 

"  I  know  a'right.  I  feel  dat  way  myself  every 
spring,"  replied  Sam. 


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